


The Bronc Town Abductions (shorthand version)

by Draes_Letum



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Crime Drama, F/M, Murder Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-07-15 05:23:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 361,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7209560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draes_Letum/pseuds/Draes_Letum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Shorthand version, shorter but faster updates)</p><p>There was a whisper in the wind of it, rumors of an old case resurfacing after ten years of going cold. Considered the biggest failure in ZPD history, one Bogo feared the savage case would threaten to echo, was the Bronc Town Abductions. The very case that tore his partnership apart, the one case he could never solve.</p><p>But now they have a lead.</p><p>Much to Bogo's relief, and perhaps to his chagrin, Nick and Judy follow the trails of a rumor that leads them to the quiet little town down south. They are determined to crack what everyone felt was an unsolvable case, but Bogo fears what such a task will do to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Foreword:**

**As per suggestion of a reader here in AO3 and mulling it over for the past few weeks while deliberating with my beta, we've finally decided to submit a shorthand version of the story. If you prefer the original formatting, feel free to ignore this one. But if you've read the original but CANNOT wait for the next chapter, do note that this version will update faster than the original but with shorter updates.**

**Why didn't we do this before? Well, the issue with making the chapters themselves shorter is that it doesn't actually work with the theme. Each chapter isn't just about a series of events, in that case we could have very well have just named them after dates or just straight up "Monday", "Tuesday," etc. The titles for each are crafted to introduce the underlying theme or state of the town. "Rumor Mill" focused on Nick's lead, a rumor, and the rumors that went around about both Nick and Judy's and Sam and Bogo's relationships. "Citizens and Victims" is pretty self-explanatory. So massive word count is attributed to the related events.**

**Now this doesn't mean I'm abandoning the old version. No, I will just meticulously update and publish each version (including the ones on the other site).**

**To anyone who has been with us since the original version, just know that if you prefer the original formatting, I apologize but it will take some time still to update that one. But there's a neat little bonus that comes with this version, it means that I have already begun the next chapter here: Chapter 4 - Anatomy of a Widower.**

**We've finally agreed to do this because fan fiction is a different medium with different rules. It isn't always like publishing a novel or an article. The distinct difference between is that fan fiction is purely escapism for the masses, and as it _is_ on the internet, it benefits from being as accessible as possible. And if this is how we make it more accessible, so be it.**

**And on one final note, do forgive us for any mistakes we may make. I still constantly reread it for editing purposes and my beta is always hard at work looking for errors himself.**

* * *

**Prologue**

The office is messy, a place mired in the disorganization of a weary little gazelle haphazardly trying to get control of her life. It is midday, sun peering through the dust through the old blinds. But like the dust, the air here is thick. Because Nick didn't want to be here but is anyway, and Judy, honestly, didn't either, but she knows she has to be.

She looks at him, expecting the fox to grimace and scowl at the position he's in, threatening to get up and leave on body language alone, but he doesn't. He is somber and quiet, much like herself. There is a sense of dread hitched in the half-lidded glaze of his eyes as he grinds his teeth contemplatively, trying to bat away the thoughts he knows he has to share but dares not to.

Gizelle is trying her best to appear professional before them. Fixing up the desk she was sure looked cleaner before. She would have sprung for a café or something, somewhere else more comfy but this old room was a remnant of someone else's past, of a place that wasn't in this city, a place that felt unreal like a trek through the 80's. And that is why she chose it, to disconnect them, all of them, from the rest of the world to have this talk.

"Lieutenant Wilde? Lieutenant Hopps? We can begin any time." It was the first time they'd heard her speak so calmly, and they almost thought she was her cousin in that brief moment. But the look they gave her, that faint shock, was enough to send her cheeks flaring, slumping her shoulders as she tries to hide behind something in her seat.

But even as Nick sees her meek little display, briefly entertaining the thought of taking it easy on her despite himself, he thinks first of what needs to be said between them and remembers once more that he doesn't like being here. "I'd really rather not. This is making me uncomfortable."

Judy is displeased, fighting a groan that dares to pass her lips. "Nick, we've been through this." She tries to sound comforting but her own want to get this over and done with makes her impatient. She'd tap her foot if her feet were on the ground. Instead she impatiently sways her feet.

He doesn't explode. He knows why they're here and why he has to do it, and understands that it's making her uneasy. But damn it all, she's not the only one! They don't really have to do this, do they? Doesn't matter if they're already here. No one's gonna stop them if they just walked out. "Look, I don't like talking about it, **you** don't like talking about it; why are we even here, Judes?"

Her hand is on his, tightening as if pleading. Then she cups it with her other hand. She looks at Gizelle, the desperate look in her eyes, then back to Nick, who is just as desperate. "Cause they need to know what happened. _How_ it happened... to us. It's important that they do."

He almost gives in right there and then but then he looks at the nervous look Gizelle is giving them, clearly hoping Judy gets through to him. And he pities her, knowing full well how hard he's making it for her but shakes his head, daring again to meet those memories but immediately fighting them away on instinct. "If you want the story, just go read the report. It's got all the emotional backstory you need."

"Please, Mr. Wilde. I've... I've read the report. Up and down, over and over again. There's more to this story than the ZPD lets on, I know it, and I can't leave anything to chance." Suddenly she is calm again, and Nick seems to respect the way she tries to carry herself. Finally, she finds purchase, softening her voice as she continues. "There's another side to it: _yours._ Both of yours. Now I won't tell you that people deserve to know the truth–" She clasps a hand over her mouth, hoping they didn't assume she thought they were lying in their report but Nick's neutral gaze and Judy's persisting melancholy said otherwise. She catches herself a moment later, managing to find her voice again. "B-but for their sakes, for those involved, for everyone in Bronc Town, they need to know what they went through, what **you** went through."

He shifts to Judy once more. He was about to give in. Gizelle was right and he knew it, but he wanted Judy to lie to him. Tell him that they didn't need to so they didn't have to think about it again. But her resolve is like steel, fighting what could have been active defiance with what was surely stronger over all, their reliance on each other. "Nick, honey, please. I can't do this alone and this needs to be done."

It only takes a moment for him to give in then. And with a soft kiss to her forehead, he sighs. "Alright, I'll do it. But I'll stop if it gets out of hand. We'll give you what we can but the details we're uncomfortable with won't be said if we don't have to."

"That's all I ask." Her smile is genuine and lost a moment later. She turns to her pen and paper, silently panicking as she thinks she's lost her notes then realizes that she hasn't made any yet. "So… shall we begin?"

He collects his thoughts, calming his nerves. The story starts with him, of course. It was his lead after all. But he was still tense. This was supposed to be the easy part but even then it was hard to say knowing where it would lead. "It started with a rumor-"


	2. Rumor Mill (pt. 1)

**Chapter 1 – Rumor Mill**

_I was scared. That case set off too many alarms for me to comfortably tackle with the same enthusiasm I usually did. I wanted to pass it off, have someone else take a crack at it but it was Nick's lead and he'd taken the reigns. Part of me still wonders how differently things would have gone had I told him that we shouldn't have gone through with it. I know that if I tried hard enough, he'd have given in to me. But perhaps it was best that it happened to us of all animals. Cause honestly, I would not have wished what we'd gone through on anyone else._

_~Judy Hopps_

**~o~~~o~**

She wakes in a haze, carrying the scent of early morning heavy in her nostrils as she snorts uncharacteristically. She rolls from side to side, trying to find the edge of the much larger bed so her legs could dangle off them but the soft mattress feels larger than it actually is and she never finds purchase over the sides of the bed. She grunts in frustration but it comes out like a sigh in her meek little throat. So she falls asleep again, letting her body relax into the mattress.

Her dreams are misty, basked in the soft mysticism of an erstwhile twilight that chased the morning sun away. But she is at home with the shadows of the languid night, quiet and contemplative as it draws her into her deepest thoughts. There are tufts of orange fur in her dream, drenched in a sea of lavender silk, mixing with her steely grey that glistened with sweat and contorted when they pressed desperately together. There is a warm breath that tickles her ears as he whispers sweet nothings into them. His roving chest is thick and toned, heaving over her as she digs her paws into the silk beneath them. She dares to touch him, feeling her fingertips catch fire as his skin burns softly at her tender caress that trails over his chest then around his neck. But this dream is ephemeral, caught clocked in mere seconds in her mind that was altogether too brief to remember. Then she wakes again, an hour later from her last, with stardust etching her lashes, forgetting the dream but feeling heat pool to her cheeks nonetheless. She blinks away the drowsiness, rubbing her eyes as she yawns strong and long. Her muscles loosen and her bones snap into place. She groans audibly this time as she throws herself off the bed, landing with a muffled thud upon the carpeted maroon floor.

Her eyes scan the room, faintly remembering where she was as reality fought to return to her. This is his room, she thought, the one he should've slept in had she not collapsed onto his bed last night out of exhaustion.

The room is filled with mismatched objects, oddities and garage sale bargains he'd accumulated over the years but the room had too many empty spaces amidst the furnishings where dust gathered thick. There is a desk she is only almost sure is her own and, if she could recall correctly, it is the only thing in the room that is really hers. His cabinet is large, a third higher than it should be for a little rabbit but she kept her clothes in there anyway. There is an old fern by the window, rare and, as Nick could barely recall, probably stolen from some forgotten chapter in his life. The ceiling fan is old but fine, rimmed with chapped gold and a false jade coating. Nick got that from a trash bin and restored it with a little ingenuity. _Fox would take anything if he could make it look valuable,_ she thinks.

Unconsciously she straightens her spine and fixes herself the brightest smile she can muster, then pushes through the door with a not-so-unconscious sway in her hips. She makes a pass at the sofa from behind in the middle of the living room, trying to catch a glimpse of the sly fox. But she makes it to the side and huffs when she realizes that he isn't there, just a folded blanket and stacked pillows. Sighing, she plops onto it, lying on the haphazardly woven together cloth, wondering after her partner.

She eyes the vanity against the window by the TV, seeing her own reflection on the cracked glass as it splinters over her ears. Nick got it on a discount in a garage sale. He wanted to spruce it up, have it painted by a professional through a favor and replace the glass by cutting out the right piece from a large enough elephant mirror from the local dumpster. But then she came over, heated breath, face burning from anger as she fought tears. Her neighbors wouldn't let her sleep as they blasted their music through the thin walls. They told her off when she tried to talk them down. She called in a complaint for public disturbance and left fuming when she found out that her landlady didn't care. She walked into his living room and cried in his arms. And after an hour of that, she laughed at the ugly faded pink that was the vanity, wondering why he'd bought such a thing.

She shut up when he said it was for her.

It was supposed to be a surprise and she couldn't help but feel like she'd ruined it. But he patted her on the head and smiled, telling her that she can just pretend to be surprised when he's done.

She's lived here for about a month now and the vanity hasn't left the room. When asked why, Nick would only tell her that he was still getting things ready and that she'll just have to be a patient little bunny until then. So when she huffs, he laughs. When she rolls her eyes, he hugs her. When she nestles her head against his neck after an exasperated sigh, he nuzzles her. And then she forgets to keep asking questions.

She sits up, puffing out her chest. Her tank top hangs loosely, doing little to hide her tiny breasts that were already hard enough to see behind the large tuft of fur. She squeezes them together, feebly trying to make them larger, easily surrendering like she always did. Her shorts are comfortable and baggy, with a waist band that sags only a little on the side because they aren't even hers. She can't quite place how she ended up having them with her but this is the third consecutive night she's worn his shorts and part of her wishes that bothered her more.

She eyes the shoddy plastic wall clock and realizes that she only has an hour till she has to come in for work. "Breakfast," she announces to the empty room, a hint of loneliness tilting her lip.

She turns on the TV, letting the news fill the empty air. "Mr. Harrier from the Mildew Burrows brings with him an entourage-" She pays the news little mind and makes her way into the kitchen.

The kitchen is a ghost of another place and another time, with a stove so old and bright blue that it looks like it came from a retro 60's sitcom. The cupboards are creaky and bright yellow with the wood skin peeling off its face. The sink is scratched and more than a little loose against its frame but luckily isn't rusted. The counter is the only pristine thing here, marble with smooth modern drawers. The counter wasn't originally there. Nick had it fixed into place with some of his earnings. It was supposed to be the first step into turning this bland little discount apartment into a modern luxury home but in comparison to the rest of the room, it is gaudy and bright, a stark contrast to the brown and faded white, cracked tiles and stained walls.

On the counter is a plastic plate with a collard green salad on it. A few sliced strawberries are hidden underneath it, peeking out with their distinct bright red. It is neatly covered in cling wrap with a note taped to its side that reads: _Heard a rumor. I'll see you at the precinct. Sorry, ran out of dressing. Hope you still like it. Heat for 45 seconds. -Nick_

She waits for her breakfast to microwave when her phone rings.

"Jude the dude!" her dad announces, much to the delight of her earnest siblings bustling in the background.

"Hi, honey," her mother edges into the frame, "ooh! Is that a new apartment? It looks so much bigger than the other one! Do you think it can fit the whole family? I'm sure your siblings would just _love_ to come over."

She coughs, trying to stall so her thoughts can gather. There is a hint of panic beneath her cheeks but she holds steadfast. Quickly enough, she responds. "Yeah, Nick helped me find it but I'm planning to get a different one instead. This one just isn't working for me. I've got my eye on one closer to the precinct. Bigger too, with two bedrooms! As soon as I get it, I'll let you know so we can plan a visit. I'd _love_ to show you guys the city."

"Well that sounds great, kiddo!" her dad exclaims, "We'll make a big deal about it and maybe take Gideon along!"

"Gideon? Why would-"

"That'd be perfect!" her mother excitedly jumped in, "make it a full family trip!" She proceeded to go on about various activities while Judy's ears flopped with a hard grit of her teeth; she could barely get a word in edge-wise.

"Oh!" Her father looks to the side, spotting something that shocks him. "Sorry, Judy, we gotta go!"

"Um… okay! Love you! Bye!" She waves at them hurriedly and the call ends abruptly at her mother waving and just before her dad could.

Judy was an honest girl, or so she swears, but being cunning didn't require such a saintly descriptor. But there was no denying that she could lie through her teeth like a pro now, with a leveled calm you could hustle a conman with alongside wit with the propensity of greased lightning. She owed much of it in part to Nick. Dumb fox was rubbing off on her and again she had hoped that that bothered her more.

She really had planned on getting that larger apartment, that part wasn't a lie. But she couldn't tell them she was living with Nick. She'd talked about the one bedroom bachelor pad in a shady part of the town and the mere thought of her partner owning a place like that made them reel, more so if it turned out she was now living in it even if it _was_ temporary. And if they came by early anyway and they recognized the kitchen Nick owned was remarkably similar? She'd just pass it off as her switching ownerships with Nick and that she'd be living in a hotel till her belongings were delivered to the new apartment. And if they found out she was sleeping there? Late night planning for another case. She had alibis at the ready, a veritable plethora of them to ensure that this little lie doesn't come out.

It didn't excite her, lying, but it was a skill she picked up too naturally to ignore, just a modification to her cunning that happened to mesh well with her partnership. Nick had a habit of pulling less-than-ethical lies to pull them out of things and she could run along with them as if they shared the same mind. And that thought, _that_ thought seriously should have bothered her more.

 _We're all liars,_ he once said, _everyone single one of us. But that doesn't make us the bad guys._

Another ring from her phone drew her from her stupor. "Nick?" Speak of the devil.

"Found a lead for a case." His breath was bated, like he'd been running. She heard him inhale as a heavy breeze tore through the air.

"What case? Nick, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He gasped. "It's an old case. I'll fill you in when I see you." She heard rustling in the background, the crunching of snow with heavy footsteps.

"You're in Tundra Town!?"

"Gotta go!" He hung up.

An exasperated sigh escaped her tiny lips as she got up. Just what had Nick gotten himself into this time? She tried to chase her fears away, trusting that he'll make it back to her again. This wasn't the first time he'd found trouble while chasing a lead and it certainly won't be the last. The best she could do was trust him. But that didn't stop her from chewing her lip.

She left quickly, locking the door with the spare key he gave her, and hoped that he'd be there at the precinct when she arrived so she didn't have to panic and rush to Tundra Town herself. There was little comfort when the car was still parked outside, even less so when she realized that he hadn't taken his spare car key off her key ring.

* * *

When she enters the precinct she waves at Remy, a quiet goat with a smile as old as the building. His orange jumpsuit is wrinkled and haphazardly stitched together from wear and tear. It was the oldest variant for the custodians but one he has never wanted to exchange, proud for his decades of service. Etched on this his right breast is the woven lettering of his name, mirroring the one etched on the face of his cap whose colors are faded but altogether still there.

She is greeted by her colleagues as she makes her way to the front desk where Clawhauser sits, his eager fingers tracing the edge of an unopened donut box. "Hey, Clawhauser, is Nick in yet?"

"Oooh," he bites his lip apologetically, "I'm sorry. I just came in so I couldn't tell you." He looks from side to side, scanning the area in panic. "Please don't tell the Chief. He'd have a fit if he found out I came in late again!"

She rolls her eyes and nods. Then her face twists, as if considering something. "Why have you been coming in late anyway? It isn't like you."

"Been binge watching Wild Hunt," he replied sheepishly, "I swear I'll start arriving on time just as soon as I'm done with it."

"You have to start controlling yourself. You'll get another series one day and you'll repeat the process. I don't want you losing your job over a TV show!"

"I…" he sighs, he knows she's right and there's no way he could win an argument with Judy Hopps of all animals. Only Nick could do that and that required a very different level of skill that he's familiar with. "I understand. I'll cut down on the late night watching." He paused contemplatively, almost instantly brightening up when he did so. "But I make no apologies for loving Ylda Braveheart," he announces proudly, much to her amusement.

She ponders for a bit, him half expecting her to give him an irrefutable rebuttal. What she says is much, much worse. "Ylda or donuts?"

He gasps. "How could you even _ask_ such a thing?" She giggled. He laughed.

He offered her a donut, the snare to his cunning trap. She took it without a second thought, thanking him. But as she chewed the strawberry filling, cooing at the taste he knows she'd long been wanting, he spoke. "So… I heard from down the grapevine that you moved in with Nick." His eyebrows did a suggestive wave.

"Well, yeah. Couldn't stand my old place."

"Ooh! Taking it to the next level, huh?"

She lifted an eyebrow, not sure what to make of what he was saying. "Taking _what_ to the next level?"

"Your relationship, _duh!_ " he jovially remarks as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And really, it should have been but Judy was unfamiliar with the term "relationship" in the way everyone else did. Most of her friends were in the family and she'd associated the term with such. To her, Nick was the best friend she'd ever had and "the next level" meant that they'd only gotten to know each other better which was nothing to be ashamed of.

"Well I suppose living with him for a month _has_ gotten us closer." She chews her lip. She wasn't sure if she should be sharing her thoughts with Clawhauser but she trusted him like the rest of the station did. _He could keep a secret, right?_ No, she knew that wasn't true. Whatever the rumor mill chewed out about them living together was probably _somebody's_ secret. But she couldn't keep it to herself, not this. She looks at him and sees that same innocent smile she'd grown to love and she knew that, in the very least, he wouldn't do anything that could harm her relationship with her best friend. "You know, Clawhauser," she paused only for a split second, catching herself quickly, "to be honest, I'm not really sure how to feel about how he's been rubbing off on me."

"Ah, trouble in paradise?" He seemed concerned but he was screaming inside. It felt so scandalous! His face threatened to twist into a grin, inappropriate with the topic at hand but it just felt _right._ He could not wait to tell the gang at the donut shop about this. But his heart sank when he realized what she just said.

"No, not really," _oh, that was a relief,_ "just… well I wish I was more bothered by it, really."

"Hopps!" Chief Bogo called from afar, making his way to them.

"Yeah, Chief Bogo?" He hands her a thick case file which she almost drops due to its surprising heft. She struggles with it, cradling the folder in her arms with some difficulty. "What is this?"

"The case file Wilde was looking for. He was in the records room yesterday looking for it."

Clawhauser's eyes widened, unsure of what to make of it. He knew that Bogo wouldn't dare mess with the records in the basement. But there was one case he was sure he kept looking at regardless. The one he'd dig up if he found the time on some particularly relaxed day. He knew it made Bogo tense and uneasy, but it would make sense that he'd just decided to keep it with him. The thought of it though, it still wracked his mind, calling back memories of yesteryear's demons he was sure the buffalo still kept looming overhead. "Is this-?"

"Yes, the Bronc Town Abductions." He spoke calmly, as if it wasn't the one damning thing that haunted his career, and the cheetah was almost in complete shock at the way he basically passed it off.

"What's that?" Of course Judy didn't know what it was, Clawhauser thought, she was in the burrows tending fields and growing crops. The dark clouds looming overhead in the cities and towns of tomorrow were of little consequence to those who lived so far away from them. It's not like it was all over the news either. Back then it was just chalked up as a set of forgettable happens-all-the-time disappearances. And even then it was buried under the announcement of Gazelle's album, and the political power struggle between Lionheart and Councilor Treads for next season's elections. He frowned at the thought that such a devastating case was swept under the rug by the media.

And then he realized that they had gone silent. Judy twisted her foot into the ground, trying not to show how incredibly embarrassed she was at making her chief so distraught. Speaking of which, Bogo hadn't met their gazes at all. His stoic visage vanished, a thin layer of weakness passing through him like a specter. Then his snout tightened and he fixed them a straight, pointed look. "It was–" he faltered momentarily, "–it was a series of kidnappings. I was assigned to it early on in my career. It's the only case on my personal record that has gone unsolved."

"Unsolved?" She looked at Clawhauser, who she swore held distress in those eyes, before returning to Bogo. "For how long?"

"Ten years cold." He shook his head, as if chasing the thought of it away. "I trust that you and Nick will be able to put it to rest."

She almost made to go right there and then, twisting her waist in the direction of her and Nick's joint office, but she turned to them, seeing the looks on their faces and felt like she was the most innocent bunny in the world for not knowing what damning quality the case in her paws held. "What made it so difficult to solve?"

"I'm sure Nick will fill you in." And at that, Chief Bogo walked away.

Clawhauser watched as Judy fought to decipher just what had happened, but then she shook her head and made her way to her office. "I'll talk to you later, Clawhauser."

It was like her first day on the job, carrying a level of innocence he was sure would be the death of her. Just like before, but without the spring in her step, entirely unaware of the weight that was about to be put on her shoulders. And he sighed, a familiar disdain dropping into his gut as he catches the memory of Bogo tearing himself apart and fears that Judy would soon do the same.


	3. Rumor Mill (pt. 2)

"Coffee?" Nick offered immediately as she pushed the door open with her shoulder. He tugged his mug away as she dropped the thick case file onto the twin desks that stood in the middle of the room, back-to-back. He pulled another mug meant for her from behind him, sliding it into her hands as she sat on the desk beside him.

She takes an appreciative sip and lets out a pleasant sigh. "Thanks, Ni-" her eyes widened in horror as she looked up at him. "Nick! What happened to you!?"

His eye was only slightly swollen, his toothy grin nudging the black bulge sordidly. His uniform was unfrayed, however, clean and neatly pressed against his lean frame, shades hanging off his breast pocket. If he wanted to cover his eye, he honestly should have used it, she thought. And he would have had it not sat uncomfortably over the bulge, making it sting.

"Uh…" he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Would you believe me if I told you I tripped and fell?"

She looked at him with disbelief. "Nick!"

"No, I'm serious!" he waved his hands to stall her. She huffed and motioned for him to explain himself.

"So… I went over to Mr. Big in Tundra Town to confirm a few rumors. And while I was there, the polar bears dragged me into some drinking after my business."

"You were out drinking!?" She almost slammed her coffee down, heat pooling across her temple.

"No, no! Calm down, don't get so emotional yet." She eased at that, simply glad he wasn't stupid enough to go drinking so early in the morning. She actually felt rather silly assuming he would do such a thing. Because despite his flaws, she knew he was still incredibly sensible.

"They were drinking in one of the train cars and most of the floor outside was covered in a foot of snow. So when I told them I had to go, I stepped out a little too quickly and misjudged where my feet would land. I ended up jumping onto a rock under the snow then I stumbled and fell onto one of the train tracks." He points at his swollen orb. "Eye first."

He didn't know when she picked up the cloth but she immediately dabbed it with alcohol. Were it not for how tense he felt, he would have noticed that her features had softened. "You klutz…" He winces at the cold sensation as she disinfects it, careful not to touch his eye too closely. There was hot water on it too somehow, probably from the thermos.

After some dabbing and the use of a rag wrapped around some ice for him to press on it, her lips arch into a frown. "You sounded exhausted over the phone."

"Yeah, so… you know how I left the car?" She nodded. "Well, I ran." She glared at him and he tore out that same innocent yet apologetic grin.

She sighed. "You didn't commute?"

"Tundra Town doesn't have buses that early in the morning."

"And not taking the car was sensible because…?"

"I didn't want you late for work?"

"I could have commuted! You know I can handle it on my own."

"Carrots, you had a long night and you didn't wake up when you usually did. I figured you could use a break."

She felt backed into a corner. He was concerned about her, considered her entirely today and last night even when she stole his bed. Nick didn't mind doing this for her, and she had no rebuttals for the kind fox. So she gave in, let him win this time around because in all honesty, she fought to see this in ways that wasn't sweet and failed miserably in that.

"I was worried about you," she finally said.

"I know. And I'm sorry but-" he takes her tiny hand and rolls his thumb over her knuckle, "-I can handle it on my own." He mimicked her. A soft smile cresting her lips. "I'll always make it back to you. That's a promise."

She hugged him then. He could tell she was secretly terrified, trembling in his grasp. Tundra Town held all of Nick's remaining enemies. Other conmen who felt he'd overstepped, corrupt attorneys whom he'd screwed over, and even a variety of other criminals. Ironically, his only real ally there used to be his greatest enemy: Mr. Big. But even as the elderly shrew welcomed him into his home, he could not protect him outside of his territory.

And outside the walls of the mafioso's property was a thick shroud of snow, covering those devils that lurked in the pale mist. It was there that she was most afraid, gripping tight and cold around her heart as she shivered. But she was more afraid for him than herself. Afraid to lose him to the mist and his past, where his history of a conman, the past he fought to bury, came back to snatch him away from her. But she steeled herself, features tightening in some solid resolve. She still had him and she would not yet – no, **never** – lose him to that.

He wiped rouge tears away, brushing her cheek where more still threatened to follow. "Feeling better?" he asked as she emerged from his chest.

She nodded, nuzzling under his neck. It was a gesture they had grown accustomed to, discovered at first by accident. She needed comforting once upon a time and he held her close like any friend would. But then she nuzzled him, silent and unwitting, and he almost flinched, sensing the obscure nature almost instantly. Yet he stood there and let her soft fur brush against his throat before nuzzling her back in finality. It was an affectionate thing, they knew, one that only couples and close family did, but were they not close? Were they not _family_ in some sense of the word? She told herself this when they began and does so even now.

She tried her best to push these thoughts away, she swears, but her thoughts lingered to the act and wondered what people might think if they found out. But a part of her wanted to be found. She looked at the door and remembered that it hadn't been locked. She could hear footsteps drifting passed the door, casting faint shadows at the gap underneath, and any one of them could open it and see them. How would he react? How would she? What would they say if posed the question? And with a feeble understanding of romantic relationships as a whole, she would honestly not know _what_ to say. She wasn't even sure of the billowing in her gut, what truths it carried and if it was an altogether good or bad thing. She would not know.

"Nick?" she asks, peeking from underneath his snout.

He is lost in his stupor, relishing in the softness of her fur and gives her a dreamy "Mhm?"

"So what's this case?"

"Oh!" he excitedly says, pulling back. He slides into his chair, the case file going with him, opening it. He pulls out some newspaper clippings and printed articles he had stacked on his desk, fanning them out above the case file. "The Bronc Town Abductions was an unsolved case that started about eleven years back. It was a series of disappearances that shocked the little town and it still haunts the place in local ghost stories. The police only ever gave up on it when the abductions stopped altogether. Thing was a nightmare. And the absolute lack of leads made it the single biggest failure in the ZPD's history."

The wording troubled her, not to mention his suddenly serious tone. "And why is that?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"Cause up until that point, they thought the ZPD could solve _anything._ Well–" he pulls out a newspaper photo of a young Bogo and a young female tiger both walking out of a crime scene with a criminal cuffed between them, "– _they_ could solve anything."

"I heard about her," she remarks, "Samsara Stripes, solved a total of six major cases in the first three years of her career, valedictorian from her academy, first Bengal tiger on the force and–"

"–Bogo's old partner," he finished for her. "Before the buffalo became our most illustrious leader, he was a young man on the force with a spry young partner in his arm, and they took the world by storm." He pulls out several other clippings of the pair, solving murders and sundering syndicates, even exposing an old crime boss in the Sahara Square. "Six years of successful crime solving and Zootopia thought they found themselves a pair of heroes."

"But then this happened?"

He nodded. "It began as a series of disappearances but it escalated when they became daily occurrences. The station hadn't even made it a case yet but by the third disappearance, Bogo and Sam were already on site. They had a hunch it was connected and were there before the rest of the police even thought it was a big deal." He'd heard about the pair's dedication from the last chief whom he talked to yesterday. Nick had a whole new respect for Bogo then, seeing the look of wonder in the old elephant's eye as he recounted stories of the buffalo. But it was short lived as the old creature sighed, leering towards the old case. "But they found nothing, and would continue to do so."

"Nothing?"

"No trace, no ransom, no bodies, no **nothing.** It went cold cause there were no leads to follow, no feasible pattern other than being in town and that's only as far as they knew. All they had were three suspects who ended up being dead ends."

He pulls out a profile from the case file. He points at the photo of a ragged lion, who was clearly drunk on the mugshot. "Calvary Pride, violent drunk, hated everybody, declared too stupid or inebriated to commit any kind of careful planning necessary for the MO."

He produces another, showing a badger in a purple Hawaiian t-shirt and sunglasses walking down the street. "Kurt Bellows, information broker for the criminal underworld, was declared innocent when his sister and mother disappeared. He'd later on assist the police in imprisoning many other criminals whom he suspected may be the culprit or would otherwise be involved but none of them would turn out to be the kidnapper. Later committed suicide on September 15th, 2004."

The final profile is that of a grey wolf. He is well suited in the photo, sporting a toothy grin but missing a tooth behind one of his major fangs. "And finally, Alexander Wolfgang, suspected ties to the mafia and other crime syndicates. Tagged as the most likely suspect. Declared innocent after his own disappearance, and emerging from a warehouse in absolute horror after surviving an encounter with the culprit."

"A victim? What happened to him?"

"I'm about to find out." He peels through the file, seeing a plethora of notes that pointed toward him being the major suspect. Suspicious encounters, daily activities, places he frequented. There were other notes that looked like a journal of sorts where Bogo seemed to almost force himself to see Wolfgang as the culprit, trying to personify him in a way that fits the MO. But as they went on, Nick could see that it became more and more clear that he wasn't. Bogo, deep down, knew Wolfgang wasn't the animal they were looking for but he tried anyway, clinging to some feeble miracle that it would somehow turn out that he was the guy.

The profile for Wolfgang is huge so Judy pulls out the lower half, scanning through them herself. The later parts go through reports that seemed to act like a personal diary for Bogo's partner, Sam. Her cursive is different from Bogo's, she could tell as she glanced over what Nick was reading. She talks about the MO and how near no one in town seems to fit it but they knew it simply **had** to be. There was no other town or home of any kind within a feasible radius for the culprit to come in and out of to do a daily abduction. Otherwise they were otherwise missing a major clue for it somewhere.

And as disturbing as her telling of the culprit was, she didn't seem altogether unimpressed. The Modus Operandi dictates that he/she was calm and collective, as certain victims were taken in broad daylight, in crowded areas without being noticed. Intelligent and careful, no trace and no marks, and had a distinct awareness for any kind of surveillance. Never used a gun, too many ways to leave a trail that way, she figured. Whoever the culprit was, he/she was only a haunted house short of being a specter. She spoke highly of the individual, curiously wondering just how that sort of mastermind came to be. But just as Judy thought Sam would be a sympathizer, another note from her dispelled those thoughts.

" _He's a ghost,"_ it read, _"a demon, a monster. The kind you tell your kids about, the bad man that lurks around every corner if they aren't careful. The kind horror movies are made of, thrillers and slasher films. And I fear that even the idea of him is scaring me. Cause I can't put a face to him. I can't even imagine. One of the townsfolk? Sure, maybe. But what if it's not? What if it's someone no one in town has ever seen? Someone hiding in the shadows, adept at being completely ignored. That's someone in this small town we haven't even met yet. And if that's true, then we've nowhere else to go. Cause anyone and no one in town could be this bastard."_

" _We've looked everywhere. Found nothing and I can see that it's getting to Bogo. I'm not even sure how hard it's getting to me. Half of me thinks I've kept a leveled head, the other half thinks I've just gone crazy. But we hide it, mask ourselves so the world doesn't see our weakness, that this case is tearing us apart."_

" _A little otter girl asked me if we'd "catch the bad man" and I honestly had no idea how to answer her. I stood there, stock still, and with my damn mouth hanging open like that drunkard Calvary… But Bogo, bless that buffalo, stepped in and talked her down. He told her it was our job to do just that and that she can rest easy knowing that we'll put him away… It was a lie though, I could see it. Bogo knew that catching this bastard would take much more than we had. And we gave it our 110% and it_ _ **STILL**_ _wasn't enough."_

The note seemed to have been tossed in by accident. It was crumpled but collected anyway, with a coffee stain off on the lower left end. She assumed it was gathered when they gave up on the case, labeling it unsolved. "This is depressing."

If Nick had heard her, he didn't respond. His eyes were frantic now, searching through the papers for the third time already. He poured through Judy's half only to be immediately disappointed after going through it twice. "Nothing…" he muttered under his breath.

"Nothing else on Wolfgang?" she guessed but of course she was right. She'd skimmed through his half and there was no mention of him after his rescue. "You know, we could always just ask the chief."

"I was hoping we didn't have to. He clearly doesn't like talking about this case."

"He'll have to buck up then."

Nick calmed quickly enough, breathing in an easy sigh before settling on a weak smirk. His takes with him all the paperwork, bundling them under one arm, patting it despondently.

"You know where the town is?" he asks suddenly.

"Never heard of it till now, so no."

"Then I'm driving." He slides off his seat, taking the keys swiftly from her waist, making her yelp.

"Nick!"

"Sorry, old habits die hard."

* * *

"Wait right there, you two." Chief Bogo marches toward them with a big black suitcase in his hand. He is careful with the case, with a reverence that makes Nick raise an eyebrow, a reaction that is promptly ignored.

They look at each other confused until he motions for them to follow him. He leads them to Clawhauser's before setting down the suitcase gently.

"What's this about, Chief?" Nick asked.

"This just came in for the two of you." He unclasped the suitcase, letting cool air spill to his hands when he took out the objects inside. One was a pistol, colored a hardened black with a soft brown grip. The other was a miniature rifle of about the same size, faintly resembling a paintball gun with a thick yet surprisingly light frame. He hands them their pieces gently along with their respective holsters, almost with a hint of sanctity out of respect for their craftsman. "I'd usually say they were standard issue but they had to be custom made."

Judy lit up, mostly glad that he'd go through the trouble for them. "Wow thanks, Chief! I... actually I don't know how to feel about this." She hoists the surprisingly light weapon in her grasp and levels it with uncertainty. The dangerous thing seemed to glare at her through the scope.

Nick pinches the pistol and dangles it like it was infected. He too found it surprisingly light but distrusted its nature by principle even if it was meant for him. "Yeah, me neither. Though I'm sure they were _lovingly_ made, I'm really more of a lover than a fighter, you know?"

"I don't expect either of you two to really make any use of them. Most of our officers don't either. It's no secret that we're almost exclusively tranquilizers and stun guns, but that doesn't mean that we can't ever be too careful." His tone shifted grimly, giving them a serious look. "But you have to understand that not every criminal deserves the cell. Sometimes a dirt nap is exactly what society needs of them. Or, in the very least, an injury they won't immediately recover from."

"That sounds like a really tough call, Chief."

"This job is all about tough calls, Hopps. Some are just tougher than others."

Judy fiddles with the sling-like holster, strapping it on. She tries to get as comfortable as she can with the new amount of weight on her back that she has to balance, which is initially uncomfortable no matter how light the thing actually is. Nick on the other hand slides it onto his hip like he'd done it before, with an ease that surprises him.

Bogo closes the suitcase, not meeting their gaze as he continues to speak. "Both of your firearms have the same caliber: 10mm, with the same kind of magazine. The pockets of your holsters carry an additional three magazines each. The clip set and extra rounds have been placed in your trunk. And even though you two won't be using them regularly, do try to clean them every once in a while." He punctuates it in a way reminiscent of an exasperated mother repeating her warnings.

"I'll be sure to keep my death machine extra shiny." Judy punches Nick in the shoulder, briefly terrifying Nick for fear of discharging his weapon with his jump.

"What he means to say is that we'll keep them maintained. Don't you worry, Chief. We won't squander something made so personally."

He gives them a relaxed and solemn nod. "I'd hoped you wouldn't. They were made by a sloth after all. Their gunsmith services aren't cheap since they take so long to carefully craft. There's a lot of taxpayer's money in them so maintaining them is the least you two can do."

Nick motioned to leave but stops dead in his tracks. He bites his lip, thinking of how nonchalantly he can ask Bogo without outright appearing insensitive. He knows the topic of the case is a little touchy but one look at the buffalo's stern gaze told him that, _eh, he can take it._ "Say, Chief, what can you tell us about what happened to Wolfgang?"

"He's dead, Wilde," he responds immediately, "committed suicide before we could speak to him."

"Oh," was their resounding response. Clawhauser didn't even realize he'd said it himself.

"He had cyanide poisoning too. If he hadn't killed himself, he would have died anyway before he was sane enough to talk to. The crook was mocking us when we thought we'd had a lead." He huffed, mighty and stoic, steeling himself from whatever emotion that dented his ironclad visage. "Put this case to rest. I'm counting on the two of you."

"We'll get you your bad guy, Chief." Nick surprised everyone, including himself, when he'd said it. Cause it was sincere, the most serious thing Bogo and Clawhauser had ever heard him say in their ten month acquaintance. And it was certainly a little awkward, the way they all looked at him wide-eyed, tearing away the stoic visage of their chief and the snide composure of the fox.

Nick proceeded to walk away, stiff as a board, with Judy scampering off to his side. They whispered to each other until even the hint of their voices faded into the background noise of the precinct.

Chief Bogo was still a little shocked, his thoughts elsewhere as he watched them.

"Look at them. Aren't they cute together?"

He gave him a quizzical look, so out of it that he couldn't put two and two together. "What? Who?"

"Nick and Judy? Your star officers? The little animals that just walked out of the room?"

He deadpanned. "Get your head out of the clouds and focus on the paperwork, Clawhauser."

He wasn't so willing to give up. "You know, they've been living together for over a month now."

Yet another uncomfortable surprise. "That was... fast." He had honestly never considered the rabbits' promiscuous stereotype to find itself in the unsullied Judy. But there she was, philandering with a fox as they shared an apartment together. It painted her in a very different light, and then the look in her eyes as the two shared what was a perhaps another helping of healthy banter suddenly turned very… naughty. His expression twisted into one that was disturbed, trying not to imagine just how often the two did it. And honestly, if they really were, Nick's pelvis would have shattered by now.

"They actually kinda remind me about you and-"

"Stop." Oh, he knew _exactly_ where this conversation was going.

"Sorry, sorry, but a cat's gotta speak his mind." He twiddled with his whiskers, grinning from cheek to cheek as Bogo shifted uncomfortably. "Though, honestly, I wish that other cat spoke more her mind."

"What are you insinuating?" he growled.

He gave him a sidled sigh, punctuating his suddenly dower expression and made to meet his gaze. "Look, even if you don't feel the same, I swear she felt something for you."

Bogo huffed. Of course he'd start talking about Sara again but now was not the time. Though, really, there was never a good time to talk about her. Clawhauser was there when they started working together and there was no denying how keenly he could see passed his partner. Sam was like an open book to him, but Bogo refused to see his insight every time, chalking it up to gossip. "Our relationship was purely professional, Clawhauser."

"To you, maybe."

"To both of us," he shot back. "Nothing ever came of us, and it never will. We were colleagues and nothing… more…" He scrunches his snout as if debating something with himself. Eyes shifting and widening as if considering a thought. Then nodded to himself as if deciding.

"Chief?"

"I have to make a phone call."

Benjamin Clawhauser's heart sang at those words, delighting at the idea of encouraging what he hoped was a final confession. He'd watched those two teeter off the edge of basically **pouncing** each other and here Bogo was, just about ready to let loose that tired old sexual tension. The chief walked away with a determined look in his eye, accented meekly with a slight slump of his shoulders, making it clear that his unyielding persona was only a mask. Because he knew what talking to Sam did to him, and it did not surprise him the tiniest bit that the buffalo he'd grown to know for the better part of seven years had decided to put on an act as he readied to make that call.

But of course he was completely wrong. Bogo wanted to ask a favor, not make some story book confession over the phone. Nick and Judy would be treading unfamiliar territory, in a quiet little town with one particular criminal who might very well look at them like easy prey. He wanted them to stay safe. It wasn't that he doubted their ability to survive, lord knows how well they'd kept their heads on in the savage case alone, but he'd be damned if he didn't take every precaution he could. Rushing to have those guns ready before they left was his first act of caution. Talking to his old partner would be the next.

* * *

"Do you think the chief believes in us?" Judy asked suddenly when they hopped into the car.

"The savage case we solved threatened to be a follow up to his previous failure. If he's ever left any hint of faith in our partnership, this would be it."

"But they've had six years of successful case solving! Six years of solid, field-work experience. What makes you think we can do what they couldn't?"

He chose not to answer, shaking his head. "What's with the cynicism?" She was being stubborn, with her fears running rampant, making her usually heroic composure wilt as if dying.

"This case _scares_ me, Nick. You can see it in the way it gets to the Chief, this case tore him and his partner apart. Clawhauser had only heard of it as it was happening and even _he_ seemed shaken at the thought of it. Who's to say we won't end up failing like they did? We even have a reported suicide because the guy couldn't stand knowing what he did about the perp! This case _does_ things to animals, Nick. The kind a town doesn't forget. The kind that tears partners apart." She was being irrational and she knew it, fought hard to deny it as it crept into her skin and told her she was giving him losing arguments. But she wanted to lose this debate, tell him all the stupid things she feared so he could beat those thoughts away.

"That's not gonna happen to us, Judes. It's going to take a lot more than one case to lose me. You won't get rid of me that easily." He had hoped that joke would have calmed her but she didn't. They shifted uncomfortably and it didn't help that Nick hadn't started the squad car yet. Then he chanced a glance at her, meeting her worried gaze.

Despite her absurd fears, there was truth behind those words and he could see them. She wanted a safer case. Maybe the new slew of robberies cutting through Savanna Central. That was an easy one, they even already had a hunch about who would be slipping through homes and peeling through pockets in a child's elephant costume, or at least who sold the suit. But aside from Nick not wanting to arrest Finnick, there was still the underlying weight pressed on their shoulders.

A bus stopped in front of the station, prompting them both to look at it. There was a large blue banner on its side, showcasing the precinct and its two star officers. Nick and Judy had long since been the faces of the ZPD, Predator and Prey working together to keep the city from harm was the kind of image Zootopia needed to feel safe again. And really, it hadn't been difficult to keep up. The two were a natural pair. Outsmarting anyone who thought their size would get the better of them. And even on the rare occasion that they couldn't outsmart a criminal, be it by circumstance or dumb luck, they could always outpace them, easily tiring out even the slickest of criminals. Bank robberies and kidnappings, hot pursuits and tense hold-ups, they'd beaten them all.

And the world was no stranger to them. Because Zootopia was a beacon of the modern age and every major city heard of its exploits. And where there was once the proud countenance of the unstoppable Bogo and Sam was now the heroic visage of Nick and Judy. Everyone watched their steps as if they were giants, felt the ground tremble as they entered a room to solve yet another case.

So expectations were high, placing them on a pedestal they both now felt was too large for them to handle. And Judy relented, that same sense of trepidation she had when she almost failed the savage case, and it dipped low and hard in her gut. Then she felt Nick's grasp close over her weary paw.

He didn't give her that same toothy grin she'd grown accustomed to. It was a gentle smile, kind and reassuring, the same one he shared with her that night he stole her away from Bogo to continue the case she thought she'd already had to give up on. "Have a little more faith in us. Like we did on our first case, we'll beat the odds."

She shifts over to his seat, hugging him by the waist as his hands found purchase along her the smooth arc of her back. "Just… stay with me, alright? I don't want to lose you to this case. Not in any sense of the word." Cause to her, her grasp on him felt loose, almost intangible. And that made her dread what was to come. The quaint little countryside town felt like a void waiting to suck them in. A fresh hell that would either consume them for all that they were and echo in the backs of their minds.

"I'm not taking you out of my sight." His hand brushed down the curve of her neck, paw meeting soft fur that sent a subtle shiver down her spine and a tingling in his own fingers.

"Same." It was a promise, solemn and true, and Judy felt that maybe, just maybe they could crack this case where no one else could. Cause he had her back and she had his, and no one was going to stop their winning streak. It was just another case, and she was determined to make sure their luck didn't run out.

"Say, you never mentioned what that lead you got was."

"Oh, wow, stupid ol' me forgot to mention it." He would have face palmed would it not have sidled toward his stupidity any further. He had assumed she knew, felt that she could read his mind, but of course she couldn't. How silly a thought _that_ would've been. "You see, unlike them, we have a solid lead."

"And what's that?"

"Rumor has it that our criminal's at it again. And _this_ time, he slipped up."

**~o~~~o~**

_I remember eying that distant horizon as we sped passed the city, watching Zootopia turn into a speck as the morning dew akin to the countryside filled my senses instead. There was a beautiful valley, swaying in the distance as the winds combed through them like waves in an ocean. How romantic that morning would have seemed to anyone else, a young pair of animals taking in the sights. But it was deceptive. I remember watching it again with disgust as we drove back home. How that beauty mocked that thick aura of dread in the air. I vowed never to go back to Bronc Town. As much as I'd pained to admit it, Bogo was right to leave it behind even if it was for different reasons._

_~Nick Wilde_


	4. Citizens and Victims (pt. 1)

**Chapter 2 – Citizens and Victims**

_If I could describe Bronc Town in one word, it'd be "cheerful." Cause really, it almost_ _**had** _ _to be. I guess, after everything that happened they just wanted to forget, smile through the fear and hope the storm passes. The abductions spooked the place, flooded it with ghost stories about a creature in the dark, drowning out what little truth they knew in the forgettable mysticism of an urban legend. At first I scoffed at it, cause to me they were just that: urban legends… But I will never forget how close those stories actually came to the truth._

_~Nick Wilde_

**~o~~~o~**

Everything about this was familiar. The pattern of the clicks on his phone as he typed her number, the strangely precise four beep wait till she finally picked up, the excited and almost nervous pitch of her weary voice, but, most of all, the smooth silky rhythm of how that one word rolled off her tongue and slipped through her lips. "Bo?"

And she would be lying to herself if she hadn't felt it too. Cause then there was his. The stern tone underlined with that sarcastic familiarity, the short "ahem" that came before anything he said if he felt that he'd sound too excited otherwise. It was the same him, pausing briefly as he fought to find the words to say, easily forgetting the most important first part before finally saying it: "Sara."

"Wow, it's… it's been a while."

"Yes… yes it has. Been far too long…"

She clutches her phone, tight and eager, nearly giggling as she does so. She is enamored, alight at the sound of his voice after so many years, and she is almost sure he is too, judging by the way he chuckles under his breath. They have no idea what else to say.

And then he laughs. It is strong and hardy, filled with the strength of his lungs, pooled from his stout heart, pitched with his age that had clearly made him a fine specimen of a man.

Then she laughs too. And to his ears it is musical and familiar. Because it is young, filled with playful ignorance and sloshed with years of exclusive love for coffee under those cool morning rains. She hasn't aged a day in his mind, pristine yet rough, and her voice alone is a testament to that.

Her heart sinks only moments later when the laughter had died and the alarm on her watch rang. She gulps uneasily and she knows he heard her do so. "Sorry to say though, I have to get going but we can-"

"Please, Sara, I need to ask you a favor. It's important." He doesn't normally interrupt her, more out of principle than respect, really. Even with his new level of authority, she'd never known him to betray perception like that. So this shocks her cause it isn't usually like him, and now she's notably worried.

"It can't wait?" she asks more out of desperation than impatience. She still has a job to do in Sahara Square, he knows that, and, really, what could he possibly want that warranted her delay. He was always fond of her punctuality, why ignore it now?

"It's about the Broncs."

_Oh._

"...I'm listening." She is attentive, more out of fear than apprehension this time.

His voice is serious but pleading, and she is careful not to harm what she knows is still an open wound.

"I have a pair of detectives heading there. They're tackling our old case. They'll need help, especially from someone who'd been there in its thickest. You're the only one I really trust to do it. And if they run into too much trouble, I know you'll be able to keep them safe."

"You're talking about those new superstars you got on your force, right? The little bunny and the fox?"

"Yes, them."

She pinches her snout. She doesn't like this. She doesn't like this at all. A hefty sigh passes through her lips and notably heats her whiskers as she cradles the phone close. "I know you're confident in them but don't you think tossing them into our case is a little much? I can't believe you'd-

"They're doing it of their own volition, Sara. Nick found the lead himself and they're on their way there to follow it." He'd interrupted her again but she's significantly less bothered by it this time. She'd been flaring and she's more embarrassed that she jumped to conclusions. She didn't seem to be acting much like herself either.

"A lead?" her mind finally clicked.

"Turns out he isn't infallible. Our perp slipped up."

She didn't want to believe it. They'd gotten their hopes up time and time again for about three months when they were in the Broncs trying to solve that case. And now she was supposed to believe that after ten years, a pair of fresh detectives who hadn't even gotten through a full year yet were already cracking it down with a lead of their own? "Sounds like a copy-cat case to me, Bo. A poor one at that."

"And if it isn't? Either way, there's a criminal down in the Broncs and they could use your guidance. I know I always did." His voice was suddenly smooth, not as stiff as it was. It was jovial, reminiscent. Like he meant it, but not as a police chief, but as a friend.

She fights a pout that threatens to replace her smile but she finally surrenders, laughing with a hearty sigh that soothes him. She hadn't realized she was being so tense. "There you go again, always finding a way to win me over."

"So you'll do it?"

Normally she'd point out how childish that sounded, how delightfully hopeful the tone of it was. "I don't think I'd ever find a way to say no to you..."

"Will I see you there?" she asks suddenly.

"I'm chief now, I can't just leave."

She knew that, but chanced to ask him anyway. Frail hope that it was, she sighs submissively, accepting it with a smile she wishes was more true to form. "Always the responsible one, huh? Guess I'm meeting them on my own then."

"Thank you. I really appreciate you doing this."

"Ha! Where would you be without me?"

"Police chief, apparently."

"Shut up, you know you wouldn't have gotten there without me."

"You know that more than anyone." The laughter they share is also familiar, a call back to days tired in the office, sharing a coffee to start the day with a bit of banter that echoed through that quiet little room.

"I'll send you their contacts with the details, and I'll let them know you'll be on your way," he says.

"I'll be there in an hour or so, Bo. Can't count for traffic so I can't be precise."

She wondered if this was where they had to say goodbye. But neither said so and she didn't want to stop talking. She fought to find words but none came, her voice hitched on the ghost of some rejection, telling her he had a job to do and she was just wasting his time, clinging onto her phone.

"...Sara?" he asks, almost scaring her.

"Hm?"

"We should… get some coffee sometime. For old time's sake."

"Hmph," she huffs knowingly, "I miss you too, ya big lug. And don't you worry about your superstars, I've got 'em covered."

"You're a saint if I've ever met one."

"You've met some pretty shitty saints then."

"You're at least very pretty?" he offers shyly.

She snickered. "Oh my god! Are you flirting?"

"No, I… I thought I'd compliment you!" He panics and she thinks it's absolutely hilarious.

"You're incredibly awkward, Bo," she points out.

"And you're incredibly insufferable," he retorts.

He wants to say more but he knows he's keeping her. If you asked him thirteen years ago if he'd be willing to make Samsara Stripes late for work, he'd have called you insane and asked if you had a death wish. But now, here where he knows she'll do anything for him and he'll do anything for her, Bogo is well aware that she'd be willing to make that sacrifice. But that didn't mean he would. "You… you should go. We can grab that coffee on Friday. At Catfrani."

The thought of the place terrified her, shocked to hear him dare say it aloud. "Catfrani?... You're saying there's a new branch, right? Cause, Bo, there's… isn't that in the Broncs?

"It is."

"You mean, same time? Like last time?"

"Like last time."

She could not believe what she was hearing. _On a roll today, huh, big guy?_

"What about your job? I thought you said that you couldn't just leave. Trust me, I get that, I really do! I understand, Bo."

"No, it's… it'll only be for a day. They can handle themselves without me for a while."

She accepts it easily enough, and after a brief conversation about how they were doing, the call ends.

Now she is alone in her studio apartment, air conditioning and sound-proof walls turning her little space into a haven against the heated expanse of Sahara Square. She lies in her bed that overlooks the living room space, eying the sunlight that peers through the crack in the window.

She kicks open the blinds that shelter her bed and steps down the carpeted navy blue steps onto the similarly carpeted floor. Her toes curl under the soft caress of the floor as she stretches then collapses onto the comfortable square sofa that arched around a coffee table, facing the TV. She eyes the full-body mirror adjacent the wall by her cabinet and realizes that she's in a rather sultry pose.

Her paws meet her ample breasts, squeezing them together. She coos, most pleased with herself.

Her eyes then fall onto the kitchenette and wonders about breakfast. She could always just order something when she goes out. But then she wonders about that one day Bogo decided to cook for her. How nice it would be if she could wake up to breakfast prepared by someone else again.

Suddenly the room felt very lonely.

Batting those thoughts away, she opens her phone as she lounges about, scrolling through her contacts.

Sara was already late for work, which would probably scare everyone in her district station, but she'd just call in, saying she was assigned to an official ZPD case, and be off the hook. The office will hear the name "Bogo" and stop asking questions. Though of course they'll feel the need to interrogate her when she returned, but not for official reasons, really. But she's quite sure that her superior officers will somehow manage to make "a buffalo's girth" an official investigative case.

"Sam?"

"Hey, Tracie. Just letting you know that I'll be off on official business elsewhere so I won't be coming in today… or for the week. Maybe longer."

"Official business, huh?" Sam could sense those knowing undertones. She was already catching on.

_Cheeky lynx._

"Yeah, ZPD official, actually."

"Is that so? Sure this isn't just a date you've _finally_ got from that hunky buffalo of yours?"

"We're just friends, Tracie." She shook her head. Regret was the easiest thing to feel when it came to moments like these. She told them about her and Bogo when she signed up for the Sahara district and they've been abuzz ever since. "I'll call up the boss when I'm on the road. I'll give her the details when I know all of them."

"Should I tell the rest of the girls?"

"You don't fool me. You'll do it with or without my permission."

"You know me so well."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "That's all for now. I have a different deadline to meet this morning and it's a ways away. I'll call you tonight, Trace."

"Give me all the _naughty_ details when you get back, Sam."

With that and a hasty exchange of goodbyes, she is yet again alone in the silence of her room.

She gets a text moments later, Bogo put together detailings of the revived case. She, at first, delighted at the text's opening, "Sara."

Everyone called her Sam. She even called _herself_ Sam. But Bogo was the only exception. He called it a right of endearment when they'd officially become friends. That it was a symbol of their unique friendship that was born from an uneasy advent of unfamiliar partners who, admittedly, didn't like each other at first. He had called her that at first to annoy her. She had called him Bo in retaliation, sheep and bow references abound. And then the names just stuck when the spite and tension was gone.

She mused at the thought.

She makes for her dresser beside the mirror but then she eyes the wardrobe pressed against the opposite wall. She opens it, tugging through the hangars to find what, at least in the back of her mind, something she'd been looking for.

Her old uniform was sealed in an airtight zip bag, and she briefly entertains the thought of putting it on. _He always did say I looked good in it._ But with a defeated sigh she turns, shuts the wardrobe, and makes her way to the dresser, pulling out her newer uniform. She wonders if he thinks she'll look good in this one too.

_What am I doing?_

Hastily she changes, then grabs a loaf on her way out, keys dangling off her hip. She had a job to do and sorting out her feelings can wait till later. _Besides, I'll see him Friday._

* * *

At what some might consider the edge of the countryside was Bronc Town, a quiet little place several miles south of Zootopia. It is a lush place, surrounded by acres of farm lands with a forest that hugged the town and stretched further south into a riverbank they called Logan's Passage which is famous for its salmon and the urban legend tied to its namesake. The air is clean here as the peaceful little town made no investments in any factories of any kind. The only things polluting the wind were the junkyard on the east end, the only really unsightly place in the area, and the two local bakeries. And nature would forgive their smoky ovens as long as they kept making pies.

At the foot of the town there is an old tank, solemn and withered. It is a remnant of another time, of wars long forgotten and better left so, ancient steel creaking as children clamber over it as their parents watched on a picnic mat. "That's Old Henry," Judy points out as they pass it by, "hopefully they were right and we'd just have to keep going."

They had gotten a little lost since Nick got tired and asked her to take over. Judy's sense of direction was usually on point but the route had detours due to locked down roads that took them off the expected path, making them guess where they even were on the map. He honestly could have been of more help if he had managed to stay awake. He had a really early morning chasing that lead and she, like him, decide to respect that by letting him take a well-deserved rest. Though, clearly, it hadn't gone as well as she'd hoped.

They managed to get some directions by a pair of camel pilgrims who had just come from the town. Judy had followed their instructions carefully but having only one landmark, the tank, meant that she just had to trust herself.

Nick watched the roads ponderously. He had been here before but the path they were taking looked so different from anything he could remember. Had the valleys been brighter then? Greener? Because, to his eyes, the world suddenly felt dim, like a dense fog hung over the lands they sped through. It didn't sit well with him.

"You've been here before, right?" Judy asks.

"On a run once, yeah, with a less-than-ethical delivery with a few old friends. Since the place was so quiet, it was ideal for making exchanges because it was a gateway to nowhere, so it kept out of sight. The town just doesn't connect to any other place very well so you'd never discover it unless you were really looking for it."

"Are we going to run into any more of your _friends_?" she punctuated sarcastically.

"No, it was a one-time deal. But we _did_ have a guy there who stuck around. Lorenzo Valentino, a real sleazy weasel, thought he could make it big by smuggling his products into it, turning his warehouse there into a drug hub."

"Am I going to have to report this?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself there, Carrots, he's in jail. Small town where everybody knows everybody makes it easy for strangers to stand out. Deputies were on him the minute he had his first shipment pulled out from Orca. Now he's in Zorro, as far south of the country as possible, serving fifteen years, with his assets now state property."

"You don't seem to care much for him."

"Why would I?"

"I don't know, you said he was your friend. I figured that _meant_ something to you back then. Camaraderie between thieves or something."

"Judes, those were my _friends_ ," he makes an effort to air quote, "those guys were little more than business partners. Really, you're the only real friend I got."

"As sweet and flattering as that sounds, doesn't anyone else in the precinct count? Maybe Lupin? Or even Clawhauser?"

"They're acquaintances. We get along, but so do me and Finnick. Granted, I like them a little more than him but I only ever really like spending time with you."

"You make yourself sound really pathetic." It was meant to be a joke, something she'd chuckle about before he'd make some snarky comeback, but it never came.

"Cause I am," he said instead.

"Nick…"

"Oh, don't take this the wrong way. I _like_ only really having you as a friend. I don't feel like I needed any more, really. But I know what I was. I was a beloved little kit who decided to be a conman to spite his loving parents just cause they couldn't agree on what kind of future I should have. I scammed a crime boss who treated me like family just so I can get a sale of a rug I didn't have the decency to just throw away. I let my dreams die cause I felt like there was no changing what I felt what the world wanted of me." His dejected sigh tore her heart apart. She almost cried for him, ready to stop the car and hold him tight till it was all better again. His past brought too many consequences, made too many enemies, too much grief, and as he made a new life for himself, history sometimes saw fit to remind him of who he was.

"But then you came," he says suddenly, "who gave me back my dream and made me a cop to the utter relief of my parents. Who made me a godfather to Mr. Big's grandkid, putting me back into his good graces like I never betrayed him. I don't deserve what I got, Judes, but I got it, and it's all thanks to you."

"Hey, to be fair, you earned all that yourself. I just… helped."

"And in no small part," he smiled, "and I won't deny that it took a lot of effort on my part too, but I needed that push in the right direction. You gave it to me. My life's only gotten better since. And best of all, I never feel like I'm alone in the world anymore."

She stops the car on the side of the road, at the foot of an opening forest that curled over the area. They were sheltered under lush green trees that seemed to guard them like sentries. She scampered over to his side, sitting on his lap before hugging him, robbing him of his breath in a tight but loving embrace. "I love you, ya dumb fox."

He clicks the carrot pen, replaying the recording, " _I love you, ya dumb fox._ "

"Could you say that again? Maybe without the 'dumb fox' part. It makes it harder to rub it in."

She socks him in the shoulder with a playful chuckle.

She traced a circle on his back, meandering towards a question she wasn't sure she was allowed to ask. But then she thought, _eh, he can take it._ "Why are you suddenly so emotional anyway? This isn't normally like you."

"I've opened up to you before. How is this any different?"

"Cause it's out of the blue, Nick. Back then it was pertinent, now it's just… we're on the road heading to a weird little town about a series of kidnappings. There are certainly better places and much better times to open up."

He considers it for a moment. She was right after all. And really, it was clear once she said it aloud. He just didn't give it much thought till now.

"I guess I'm just scared."

"Of what?"

"A lot of things, I guess. Hearing about Bogo's partnership being torn apart by this case was a little upsetting. Knowing that we're years behind them in experience isn't exactly the most encouraging tidbit to carry into a career-changing case. And neither is owning my very own _gun._ " Nick knew very well why he didn't just give them tranquilizers just to be sure they brought it with them. No, he knew that Bogo wanted them to come back alive and giving them guns was more for their safety rather than anyone else's. Bogo felt responsible for this case going cold and now that someone's finally able to take up the torch meant that if anything irreparably bad happened to them, he'd blame himself for it. It wasn't lost on Nick, the idea of bearing this cross, but he had some semblance of confidence that they could do it. Their partnership hadn't failed them yet, and he'd be sure to keep it that way.

"It's not like you have to carry it around with you. Besides, it's standard procedure, Nick, everyone gets one."

"You're a sharp one, Carrots, I know you know that isn't why he armed us with _firearms._ "

Judy said nothing. Of course she knew, but indulging in some denial made everything else about this case easier to deal with, which wasn't by a lot by any margin. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat on his lap and just dug her face into his chest. "Can we just… you know, cuddle? I don't want to have to think about how dangerous this case is going to be until we get there."

He obliges, much to his own relief, stealing a stroke of her fur in a comforting nuzzle.

Outside, two local deputies, a yak and a goat, were hiding in the tree line, hidden behind a bush, peering over it to see the suddenly stationary squad car. Their eyes scanned over the frame of the vehicle, stopping at the large "ZPD" logo plastered on the side. It was incredibly suspicious.

"Think it's legit?" the yak asked, southern accent abound, edging at his seat as he tried to peer through the tint of the ZPD squad car.

"Either way, it's a bad omen fer the town." The goat grimaced, her half-wanting to ignore it and hope it disappeared, like they'd just imagined it.

"We oughta investigate, Clem, no sense in leavin' it well enough alone."

"C'mon, Barns, can't we just leave it be? Play the fools and just stay in the car?"

"Sheriff's not gonna like that. We're fresh on the payroll and ah' think we already got much o' his ire." He grimaced, sighing in exasperation. "Might as well do our job and hope we don't find a horse skull in there."

"Now don't go bringin' 'im up! Dead Horse is an urban legend, nuthin' more."

"What with all the disappearances, do ya' really think this town's bound for anythin' less?"

"Let's just get on with it. Ah' don't like talkin' about this."

They come out of their car, wielding their ZiDAR speed guns, forgetting that they left their tranquilizers in the glove compartment. Barns approaches the passenger side door with caution, looking back at his partner who is clearly just as anxious as he is.

She urges him to knock but they move a snail's pace, weapons in hand, ready to shoot what they entirely expect to be the end of them.

His hand was already raised to knock, and he wasn't even _at_ the door yet, still a full foot away before he can rap at the door. His fists clenched uneasily, sweating as it did so.

Then they jumped when the window slid down with an electric whir.

"For the love of…" Nick's voice cracked at them. "Do you mind? We're having a moment here."

They blinked at the sight of them. A fox and a bunny cuddling in a squad car on the same seat. They seemed to be lovers, rather scandalous really, and they were significantly less embarrassed by being caught like this like you would expect of most people. They mostly just looked annoyed.

Fine yet imposing ZPD uniforms, light armor over the bunny's chest, shades nestled on the fox's head. They weren't like the bigger animals but they were clearly much cleaner and much more professional looking than they were. They were detectives to boot, seeing as they were coming into town. They were prominent figures well above their pay grade who could get them fired if they complained to the sheriff.

All-in-all, it was a sight of complete and utter relief.

It wasn't some ten foot monster hunched over in the large squad car, waiting for them to open the door so it could flare its glowing red eye at them to steal their souls. It wasn't a group of cultists with a body in the trunk and knives at the ready. In the very least they expected some shady fellow who might as well have kidnapped them then they'd never see the light of day again. But before them was an innocent sight, two lovers on their way to town.

But then Nick glared at them, and Judy clearly wanted to do much the same but settled with indifference.

Clem spoke on their behalf, sheepishly so. "Oh, sorry, officers, we just thought… nevermind. Ah'm assumin' you two are headin' ta' Bronc Town fer' the disappearances?"

They looked at each other. "We are, actually. This is the right way?" Judy asked.

"This road only goes there, ma'am," Barns replied, "straight tah' town with no detours less ya count the one towards the lake."

"Perfect," Nick chimed. He wasn't sure if he was relieved though. He honestly wished they'd gotten lost and ended up stalling for another day but time was of the essence and making it there as soon as they could had to take priority. But he could not deny that the idea of taking his time, to cuddle or just mentally prepare himself, grew all the more appealing.

"So… this mean Dead Horse is real?" the yak asked more to his partner than anyone else. She shot him an incredulous look.

Nick's face twisted in confusion. "Dead Horse?"

"Don't mind him," the goat interjected, "just an urban legend. Sorry ta' say, though, folk here's been spooked since Mr. Kidd and the rest of 'em went missin' and now we all got them dusty old myths on the brain."

"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly _is_ the Dead Horse legend?" Judy was genuinely curious. And even as Nick clambered over to the driver's seat, he too readied an ear and a curious look underneath his shades.

The goat had a somber look to her, clearly uncomfortable with the topic but she was in the presence of the ZPD, whom they just rudely interrupted. "Well, if you're serious about knowin', guess there ain't no harm in it." She bit her lip but pressed on. "Just an old myth anyways." She laughs but she knows she's not fooling anyone. "The older folk say that it's a ten foot walkin' crow, with feathered claws where the wings oughta' be, and a horse's skull for a head, red eyes glowin' in its sockets. And its stomach is a furnace, cinders bellowin' in its demon gut, and embers tricklin' out of its every breath."

She was in distress and they didn't know why. Like the thing was an image from her nightmares. They were about to ask her to stop for her own sake until the yak continued for her, offering a comforting pat as he did so. "They say that if ya find yerself alone at night, or if ya been plenty naughty, he'd find ya, red eyes blinkin' till he got close. Then he'd steal ya away, swallow ya whole like a python. Then it'd cook ya in its stomach, burnin' ya in the furnace in its gut. Then its body would smoke from its skin and skull, plantin' yer ashes in its feathers and turning its head black as the night as ta' slip away in the shadows."

Nick had read the report. He'd taken the time to do so thoroughly when they were packing back at home and any time between then. As luck would have it, he was familiar with this. There was a report of a drunk witness seeing "blinking red lights" when his friend was kidnapped that night. It pointed out that the culprit may drive a car. But with no other defining features identifying the vehicle, it was a dead end. Cause everyone in town could drive, there was no narrowing that down.

And the smoke and ash? The people of this town probably suspected the culprit burned his victims… which honestly seemed like a fair assumption. But Bogo speculated that it would have called someone's attention if that was the case. A daily burning? Or, in the very least, frequent enough? That's the kind of habit that would have gotten him caught already.

"People here really believe in that stuff?" Nick asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Way ah' understood it, in the disappearances from way back when they couldn't so much as glimpse the crook. Meanin' that all o' their interpretations, from the locals and police alike, were as good as everyone else's."

The two returned to their car hidden in the woods, trying to catch speedsters down the one road into town while simultaneously trying not to fall asleep on the job. The pair politely thanked them for not reporting them to the sheriff, to which Nick and Judy thought was a little extreme considering that they only interrupted them. Nothing worth noting, really.

"They're real green," Nick commented after they waved goodbye.

"They look really young too. I thought they were teenagers in costumes! How old is the minimum working age here anyway?"

"Eighteen I'm guessing, maybe less. Most of the people here don't have anything passed a high school education."

"Where'd you find that out?"

"Sam made a note of it. Highest education in the area is the local high school. Most people here consider following the family business instead of gunning for college. You don't need to master trigonometry to manage a hardware store. Speaking of which, we should find out where the local gun shop is. Our first lead has an interesting quality to it."

"A gun?"

"Rifle, specifically. This guy's never used a gun in his previous kidnappings but now that he's back, he's suddenly using one."

"Almost sounds like a fake. Still, there's already three kidnappings, judging from what the sheriff told me. We can't let that slide either way." Judy had called up the Sheriff when Bogo sent them his number. Apparently the old polar bear used to work with them as an expert in forensics. He moved to Bronc Town to spend the rest of his days in silence, far away from the excitement of the ZPD after all the cases he helped solve. What irony it must have been when their biggest case to date came knocking on his new front door.

"Think it might just be a copycat?" Nick considered the possibility but felt that there was a connection to the original. He knew of the MO intimately, and following in someone's footsteps so closely meant that there was at least a connection. And if it turned out to be the same person? Well they could just be trying a less direct approach with the gun. Strange and unsuitable but not altogether impossible.

"Sheriff said that he was much like a ghost and, if he's a copycat, he's a fast learning one. His first was his only major slip up. The next two were significantly cleaner. At least, so he says. We'll have to look into those too when we get the chance."

Finally, they'd made it into town, bright faces greeting them as locals smiled and waved through their open windows. A flock of children stopped and awed at the sight of their sleek vehicle, running along its side as quickly as they could before growing tired at a street corner.

They were met with similar reactions on their way to the town courtyard, with a few choice looks that were, if they had to guess, fearful. ZPD rolling back into town was a grim sign if the first time they did had anything to say about it. "Maybe taking the Pursuer wasn't the best idea," Judy said, meeting the gaze of a weary old rabbit.

In the center of town, just across from City Hall, is a bronze statue of a horse standing proud in his cavalry armor known as the Horace Memorial. Bronc Town was the site of the last village that held horses, a race that died of war and plague way back during the medieval period. But as the homes crumbled and then burned away from freak accidents, pilgrims found the land and built over the ashes. They buried the last horse on earth in the center of town at his behest, with the bronze monument serving as his sarcophagus.

The horse was a farmer, no soldier of war or glory, but they wanted to remember him as a town hero. Being well known as the last of his kind put the town on the map, and for that the town was thankful enough to spin lies of a valiant war horse even if he never held a weapon in his life. Anyone old enough to remember the stories will tell you they were lies, but would ask you to believe in them anyway. One day no one will know if they were lies, and they'd morph into a legend every old goat and young kit in town would know.

They parked by Catfrani, a quiet little diner on the road that wrapped around the statue. It was next to a flower shop and Laundromat, and because of them the outside air was fragrant, filled with fresh flowers and equally fresh detergent. The frail old badger at the flower shop waved at them, handing out a pair of flowers saying, "Maybe a bouquet for your partner, young man?"

"Yeah, Nick, how about a bouquet?" He gave her an annoyed half smile. Nick wanted to turn her away but she was a sweet little old lady and, really, it's not like he couldn't spare the money. So he humored her and bought it, handing it to Judy with a scowl that meant he'd get back at her for putting him on the spot.

"Thanks, _sweetheart._ " She winked at him, a signifier that she had won.

"How lovely," the old badger cooed at the sight of them. "Such a fine young couple you are."

And that's when it clicked.

He had a plan, a comeback he'd use to make her eat her words. It was so easy too, almost too easy, he even briefly considered trying something more elaborate but this was too good, and much too opportune. Nick leaned in, turning his cheek, much to Judy's confusion, and pointed at it. "How about a kiss, hun? Love's a give and take after all."

She flattened, staring wide eyed at him then at the expecting gaze of the old badger. She was trapped, caught in awkward spot in a hole she dug herself in. She would get mad at him later but for now she had to focus on getting out of this without upsetting the old lady. "Oh, no no no, not in public! We-We couldn't possibly-"

"Nonsense!" Nick announced, "not like we're bothering anybody. Besides, what's a little peck between _lovers_?" She had never before wanted so badly to burn off his suggestive little eyebrows. Which was incidentally intimately connected with the rest of the fur on his face. Actually, now she wasn't sure if she wasn't altogether considering arson on a particularly smug fox.

She surprised him with a quick peck before hurriedly tugging him into the coffee shop.

"I'll get back at you, Wilde." She gave in, but she would not be outdone.

"Oh, I'm counting on it, Carrots." And neither would he.

His confidence irks her, knowing full well that for as long as they were friends, that grin would be there to stay to mock her at his every victory. And he'd endeavor to remind her at every opportunity. But unbeknownst to her, he was fighting a furious flush to his cheeks. He was completely caught off guard when she kissed him and, though he'd never admit it, had lost all control of both the situation, which was altogether unpleasant, and himself, which was altogether… well, it wasn't _un_ pleasant. She luckily didn't notice as she continued to usher him into the diner, but he fought to drain the heat in his cheeks before she could see.

"When Bogo said you two were partners, I didn't think he meant that you two were intimate," a feminine voice shocked the two as they made their way to the counter.

Sitting in a booth by the window was a female Bengal. She wore a thin variant of the ZPD uniform, with a hood attached to it and wrappings around the arms. It hugged her chest generously, covering it in what seemed to be dark blue linen sewn into the uniform to replace the collar. "Samsara Stripes?"

"The one and the same," she proudly announces.

Judy blinks at the sight of her. She is the image of something else, something grand. A woman still in her prime, with a brimming confidence that traces her tight features and clearly thick muscles, accented by the fierce look her eyes seemed to perpetuate. Her form is beautiful as well, with a stomach curved smoothly into her hips and thighs like a river. And her smile is both intimidating and delightful, a full set of pearly white fangs that were just as clean as they were utterly dangerous. She was absolutely imposing via presence alone.

And this terrified Judy.

Here she was, the role model of the century who was the walking visage of whom she one day hoped to be on the force. Accomplished and experienced, beautiful and respected. And Judy so terribly wanted her to like her, maybe show her a few tricks so maybe Judy would one day be like her.

But her heart sunk, keeping her emotions underneath the surface this time. Judy was sharp and could tell right away that Sam's sideways glance the minute they looked at her and the way she mostly focused on Nick instead of both of them was indication that she didn't respect her. Of course she'd try to chalk it up as coincidence but she had studied social psychology and would only endeavor to try to prove herself wrong. But her avoiding eye contact as they sat together didn't help.

"Officers Nicholas Wilde and Judy Hopps, I presume?"

"Just Nick, thanks."

"Okay, _Nick_ , so you're the one with the lead?"

"For the record, it's _our_ lead." He gestures to Judy and himself.

Nick, much to Judy's surprise, was a little peeved at her for some reason. She guessed that he sensed the same thing she did, but in typical Nick fashion, was much less interested in keeping it to himself. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Right, so what did you two find? Bogo just mentioned that our perp's turned into a shooter."

"That's about it."

She raised a skeptical brow. "You're serious?"

"Better than nothing. Which, as I can recall, was the recurring theme."

She honestly would have found that offensive, like he was insulting her, but he wasn't. She could see it in the grim look hidden beneath his gaze. Nick clung to the idea of this lead like it would be the only lifeline he would ever get. And, if she was being honest, it probably was. This one lead came out of the only mistake the guy's made in years. That is, if it even was him. "Ever think it might just be a copycat?"

"If it is, it's a dangerous one," Judy added. "We've had four disappearances in the last three days. No slip-ups passed Mr. Kidd either. If we've any chance of catching him, it's with this."

Sam would normally revel in their dedication, even praise them for it, but she couldn't but feel that they were in over their heads. But she knew _she_ was when she and Bogo took up the case in the first place. "Even if this guy doesn't turn out to be the same person, he'll end up being a nightmare anyway. You sure you two are up for this?" If they ever appeared eager to her before, they certainly weren't now.

"I came here fully expecting to fail," Nick responded, a stern gaze to him that she swore mirrored her own after her first grueling day at the academy.

"Then why are you even here?" she asked more out of curiosity than anything else.

"To surprise even me if I don't."

The glass door swung open, deliberately slamming its handle onto the adjacent wall with a loud thud. A female wolf stood at the door frame, well dressed with eyes hidden beneath her shades. Her presence seeped into the room like she was announcing something without saying a word. The other patrons stared at her with a collective look of shock, then bringing themselves to hurriedly go back to their business, hoping she didn't notice them when she scanned the room.

Her eyes stopped at their booth, a grin tracing her lips as if she'd found what she was looking for. "They're over here, boss."

A steady hand stopped her by the shoulder before she could saunter to them. Suddenly the patrons seemed less tense when the thin lion walked into the room with her. His mane, much like the rest of him, was thinner than most lions of his kind. He stood straight with an air of righteous charm that seemed to permeate from his aura. "Try not ta' make a scene, Liandra, we're here ta' meet detectives, not impose on some fresh deputies."

"Ahem, sorry, sir." She righted herself quickly, much to the surprise of all observing.

The pair approached and Sam could only barely realize that she'd been staring. When they were within ear shot, she could not help but utter, "Calvary Pride?"

"That's _Mayor_ Pride, to you, kitty-cat," the wolf spat quickly.

The lion placed his hand on her shoulder once more. "Liandra." His voice hinted at a quiet scolding, and the disappointment in his face was enough to make her shrink. She whispered a silent apology to him before slinking back.

"Wait a minute, you're mayor now?" Sam's disbelief radiated like an odor, slicing through her steady grace, wracking her features like she'd gone mad. And really, she almost thought she had, looking at him like he was an apparition.

"A lot can happen in ten years, Miss Stripes." He was a violent drunk, a man so out of his mind that he was more a danger to himself than anyone else. A far cry from the clean, albeit thinner man that he is now. A contrast you find in fairy tales and romantic comedies. In other words, completely unbelievable.

He did not wait for her response, as he turned to the other two present. "Now, I'm assumin' that ya'll are the detectives Sheriff Creed spoke about? Judy Hopps and Nicholas Wilde?"

"Just Nick, thanks."

"Well if we're gettin' familiar, you can very well just call me Calvary. I'm not one for formalities if you want none of it. And this–" he gestures to the wolf at his side, "–is Liandra Hunt, head o' my security."

"Hey there, Handsome." she eyed Nick with a predatory gaze that made him inexorably uncomfortable. Then she winked at Judy. "Cutie," she then greeted her, making Judy mirror Nick, made even worse when Liandra bit her lip, giggling at their united displeasure. "Just call me An."

She then felt a weight on her shoulder, draining the coy out of her.

"Do try ta' pay her little mind." He looked her down with the same look of contempt as before. "She doesn't yet know how to _behave_." And again, she shrunk under his gaze.

Nick would have found his accent strange had he not dealt with the deputies from earlier. His southern accent was more refined, toned to be illustrious rather than rough. And it was carried with the way he moved, almost stiff yet poised, practiced yet natural. He was genuinely impressed. "I'll be honest, you look _nothing_ like you did in the reports."

"I'm a better man now. Hopefully one that can be useful. If ya'll ever need anythin', ya' have my office down in city hall. It's my home now too, so you'll likely find me there often enough." City Hall, named as such when the town used to be a city when the horses were still around, doubled as the only full manor in town, typically a place where the mayor lived, acting as a station for town meetings and functions. And such a place housing such a lion repulsed Sam.

Calvary's effort at kindness despite Sam's continued disapproval struck Judy as remarkable. She could not help but feel comforted at his presence, a feeling, it seemed, she shared with much of the townsfolk. "Glad we have your support then, Mayor. I actually feared that we wouldn't be welcome into town at all."

"Now don't think that this town's history with the ZPD made 'em unwelcome. It just… it brings back unpleasant memories. This whole town felt it when it happened. Hit it like a storm. Town finds no comfort what with that demon around, doin' what he does."

Nick honestly had no idea what was wrong with him. He could feel the words ripple in his own throat and surge over his lips, his tongue ready to make the motions and he felt that he could not help but say, "we'll get you your kidnapper, Mayor Pride."

Judy could not help but stare at him in shock, and neither could Sam who had only known him for only a few minutes and had already concluded that him saying that was entirely out of character.

But unlike Bogo, who would have just as easily matched the girls' look on their faces, Mayor Pride did not find it any sort of strange. And his baleful expression spoke of something else quivering at his lips. "Kidnappins'? I beg ya' not ta' sugarcoat it, Mr. Wilde. These are killins'."

Aside from suddenly formal notation, Nick could see how dour the calm man had suddenly become. He could not help but feel like he'd said something unwelcome.

"There's no solid evidence to suggest that," Sam retorted.

"Stay textbook all you like, Miss Stripes, but we here don't like pretendin' that somethin' isn't what it is. Dead Horse or Carrion Cult, this town'll spin ya stories about what old folk say what happened years back but ask them real seriously like, ask 'em what they really thought happened to those gone missin' and they'll tell ya all the same: those folk we ain't seein' again, dead or alive." He was grim, more serious than Sam had ever seen him and she was set aback.

His eyes roamed, looking to all of them; not only her. "We best all come to accept that. If this is gonna be anythin' like the last, all that we know right now about this bastard has to be upfront, cause we can't dance around the maybes like last time and cling ta' feeble hopes."

"Now, I'm not gonna lie… I need you folk. When I heard all three o' ya were comin' I felt like this town finally got another chance to put this hell behind us. Bring security back ta' those 'ere that decided to stay despite the pains that came with it. I need this town to feel like home again. For them, me, everybody. So I'm bettin' it all on you three."

"That's a hard bet you're making, Pride," Sam says, trying to appear unmoved by him.

"And if you were in my place, you know it's one even you'd make." Cause he knew she wanted the case solved just as much as he did. And that's when it had dawned on her. He didn't care that she hated him, it barely even fazed him. She didn't notice back then because she chalked it up to him just being drunk all the damn time but now, with him sober, she could see it clear as day. He was a man of control if he put his mind to it, capable of securing liquor when he was flat broke or becoming mayor when all of the town hated him before. And here he was, playing at the one thing that put them both on the same level, the one thing they had in common if all else failed: this case.

Sam didn't press any further. No words to counter because he was right. And whether she liked it or not, she'd do exactly what he wanted her to do: give her all to catch the killer.

 _Killer,_ Judy thought. It was a word that felt almost foreign to her. She'd gone into this case believing that they were only kidnappings. At least, that was what she kept telling herself. She knew, at the back of her mind, that these were murders. It seemed so obvious really, even if the evidence and the reports never openly admit to it. What else could have happened to all those people? Anything else that kept them alive meant that something in the little town had to be notably different. But they were dead and it's harder to find a corpse since they don't make a fuss or try to escape. They simply had to be dead. No way in hell was the perp keeping them alive.

 _The Bronc Town Abductions_ was the name of hopeful speculation. An idea that it wasn't as bad as it was. A little lie the papers told to comfort readers. But of course it was a lie.

There are reasons why this case was looked upon with such infamy, why it haunted Bogo. He imagined these people dying. Drawing last breaths as he wasted time chasing leads with dead ends and counting down how many days he failed. Sixty-eight victims over fifty-seven days, all presumed dead. And he'd bare that cross till it made him bitter. To some there may have been some consolation in someone else taking up the case, but it was not a cross to be passed on, just one to be shared. And though the weight is lighter, an overwhelming weight remains overwhelming.

It takes a moment of silent appraisal for her to realize that Sam, who sat across from her, was silently seething. But the daggers of her eyes were weary contrasts to what billowed beneath the surface. She knew Sam didn't like her but she moved to ease her anyway, hand stretching over to her.

Sam notices the approach of her tiny hand and is silently surprised. Their eyes meet for only a moment until Nick interrupts them. "I hope you're okay with that, Carrots."

"Okay with what?"

"Sharing a room? You're okay with that, right?"

They had apparently gone into a discussion about all the places they needed to go. Nick made sure to remember where the first crime scene was, as well as the only gun shop in town, the sheriff's office, and the only local hotel where they would be sleeping in. The hotel room was personally arranged by Liandra, much to their conjoined displeasure. "Oh, yeah, of course. Not like we haven't been doing it already."

"Great." He quickly returns to his conversation with the mayor, leaving Judy to meet with Sam again.

Sam was clearly embarrassed by her earlier behavior, but she settles with hiding herself. She looks out the window, chin and cheek resting in her palm, trying her best not to pay attention. She steals a quick glance at Judy who meets her with concern matting her lavender eyes. Sam wants to speak, it's clear when she puts her hand down to respond but the words die as her eyes fall away from her. Sam's hand retreats to her arm, a defensive mechanism Judy recognizes.

Before Judy could do anything, she hears the impatient _ahem_ of a female lynx by their table. Only then does she notice the menu before her, leaning on her bouquet.

"Try not ta' order the carrot cake latte, Miss Judy," the mayor suggested, "thing's a nightmare ta' make, way I hear, and Carrie's week's been hard enough as it is."

Carrie, the lynx waitress, pretends not to hear them but the blush in her cheeks and the scowl etching the sides of her lips said otherwise.

"Hazelnut iced coffee then."

Carrie quickly added her order then sluggishly slumped away. "Is she... the only one here?" Nick was quick to point out.

"The rest of 'em took an extended holiday since Mr. Kidd went missin'. All outta town now; hopin' ta' stay out till the shadow over town passes, but that's unlikely to happen anytime soon." He looks back at Carrie, a worrisome look on him that made Sam wretch. "Poor girl's been at it for days." It just looked so fake to her, so unreal like a trek through the uncanny valley. She almost believed it but the idea of Calvary Pride being anything but a violent, antisocial, drunk just didn't feel right.

And she wasn't willing to let him pull this charade. "Cut the crap, Pride! What the hell's going on here?"

"You got a problem with the mayor, kitten?" Liandra bares her claws but Pride stops her yet again.

"Now I understand that we got off on rather unsavory terms last we met but times have changed. I cleaned up and became mayor. No trick to it." His voice is leveled and calm, speaking with a reverence, as if talking to a flock. And it happens naturally, much to her discomfort, with an ease she swears she didn't see in him before which she finds utterly suspicious, and she can't shake it. "And now that I'm a local official, I endeavor to inform you that ya'll best be on your best behavior. Maybe get outta them uniforms when you get the chance. It's clear enough that you folk ain't from around here and those uniforms don't make people feel safe 'round here. And I'd rather my people feel safe."

"That a threat, Pride?"

"A request, Miss Stripes, and if you won't have it, then make it a suggestion. Now, my people's plenty tense, tryin' a little too hard to smile nowadays. Ya'll lookin' like you one o' us will make 'em feel a little _less_ tense. So for the comfort of my townspeople, I implore you to take me up on it." He waves his hands non-threateningly. "It's all I ask."

"Sounds good to me," Nick adds, "I'd love to get out of this uniform."

"Mind if I watch, Fox Boy?" Liandra is quick to suggest.

"An, yer makin' them uncomfortable." Calvary's shift in mood was remarkably quick, which made things no less strange to Sam but Nick and Judy were only happy to see that lion turn away another argument. "Now we won't take much more o' your time." He looks at Sam once again who isn't interested in talking, much less make eye contact. Then to Nick and Judy who clearly tried their best to remain pleasant despite Sam's outbursts and Liandra's flirting.

"We'll take our leave now." He pats the wolf on the back, then she leads the way out, winking at Nick as Calvary rolls his eyes. Just as he made to follow her, Calvary pondered for a moment, then he finally turned back to them. "And… welcome to Bronc Town. I know it ain't the best greetin', but welcome anyway. Maybe when this is all over, ya'll can… come to town when it ain't so grim, see it for the beauty that it is. It's a nice place, you'll learn to love it."

They were out the door the next moment, Calvary waving at a few patrons who greeted him.

Nick leaned in toward Sam. "You don't seem to like Mayor Pride very much."

"Yeah," Judy interjected, "I know he was a bad drunk and all but I can't imagine him doing anything to you that would warrant such a clear grudge."

"It's not that." She was being unprofessional, she knows that. A senior to them and she was already being reprimanded, but she couldn't be asked to apologize for her behavior. She did not regret doing what she did.

She wanted to poke and prod, see where he'd snap but he didn't. Instead he side-stepped her arguments back there, turning to another topic yet again, easily taking control of the conversation. And the idea that he could do that honestly terrified her. It was true that Calvary was uncooperative during their first encounters but those were things she'd attribute as another ignorable detail when they'd eventually moved on to likelier suspects, but _that_ was just the very problem she was dealing with.

"I don't know about you two but I think Calvary just made it back on the suspect list."


	5. Citizens and Victims (pt. 2)

On August 6th, 2015, Mr. Montgomery Kidd was seen leaving his home late one afternoon when some fishermen greeted him along the river that connected to the lake. There were half-remembered reports from a local convenience store about the old goat buying a single bottle of beer and a packet of cigarettes, none of which would be found on the crime scene. He was reported missing the following day by his visiting nephew and his home was immediately investigated by local law enforcement.

It's been three days since then. Two other disappearances have occurred, albeit much more cleanly. There is the looming question of who goes today but if everyone's thinking it, they're certainly not saying it out loud.

They know very little about the case. The only forensics experts, Sheriff Denzel Creed and, to some degree, his apprentice Deputy Terence Kaenid, were out of town up until today. So without proper order to have secured the crime scene, they are going to enter one likely tampered with, surrounded by disorganized deputies who had almost never had to deal with any crime of any kind up until today. The door knobs are likely covered in their paws and maybe delicate foot prints in the dirt were probably trampled or covered in their garbage, someone may have even been fooling around with a murder weapon or urinating on a hidden bloodstain.

It wasn't a great start by any means.

They pulled up on a wide clearing in the forest, clearly made to be a makeshift parking lot for the residents. Around them are a few local vehicles and a few other squad cars. One of them still had a deputy and his partner, a wolf and an armadillo, waiting by it. The wolf waves at them.

Nick and Judy approach him, Judy clutching a forensics kit in hand. Sam stays behind, content on letting them take the lead.

"We're deputies Kaenid," the wolf points to himself, "and Reese," then to his partner. "We'll be escorting you two to the crime scene."

"Let's get to it then," Nick responds, motioning to get going.

"This is a pretty big parking lot for one cottage," Judy comments.

"The forest actually has a few private cottages," the armadillo replies with a nasal tone, "Mr. Kidd's isn't the only one in the forest but his is the only one meant to permanently house him. The goat's been living here since his kids moved out a few years back. Even sold his home in town to a couple of newlyweds to make it permanent."

"Do we have any kind of witnesses then?"

"Most of the others who frequent here in the forest went back to town to help out with the Autumn Festival," Kaenid replied.

"Sounds like convenient timing." Nick made a mental note to look into them. Even if none of them were the killer, somebody must have seen _something._

Their feet crunched along the dried leaves, occasionally snagging a twig or two. Judy couldn't help but feel that they were potentially disturbing the killer's trail, one that they might retrace but even if they were going to, the local law enforcement would have mucked it up by now.

She scanned the tree line, seeing the hints of fall's early approach. It was August 9, a date she'd mark in ambivalent reverence, because she knew she'd remember it for as long as she lived, for better or worse. She'll remember the taste of the air, reminiscent of what she'd relish on her days at her farm, which tasted sour today somehow, an omen for the days to come. She'd remember the smell, Nick's cheap cologne and the scent of the forest in the late morning as it passes her senses with a familiarity that she'd sworn she'd never known. But perhaps this was only how she'd remember them. Thoughts and sensations she'd grown accustomed to and could honestly believe she'd had them all along. She'd remember the cold wind brushing over her bare arms, silently begging to wear her uniform again.

Then Nick's tail wrapped around her, cradling her in his warmth before he could take her in one arm as well. She'd remember the tentative relief followed by a quiet thank you, the warmth in her chest and cheeks, and how she wondered if this was the last time she'd ever feel such comfort.

"So what do you boys know so far?" Nick asked suddenly after taking the forensics kit from Judy.

"Only that Mr. Kidd never made it into the house and that our perp shot up the place."

Their eyes went wide.

"You're serious?"

"Not with an automatic weapon. We can tell it was single-fire," (akin to the rumors Nick heard), "but it was all over the place."

"Decoys," Judy stated underneath Nick's tail. They turned to her. "Only a few of them were likely meant for his victim. The rest are probably a cover up. Besides, you don't need to shoot up a house to catch one old goat. Did you manage to find any bullets?"

"Not all of them, not enough to match the holes we counted, but they're all 308s according to our ballistics testing this morning."

"Were they all inside the cottage?"

"They were, yeah."

"And bullet holes only on the walls and none on the furniture or something?"

He nods.

"Then it's safe to say that there was no firefight, the only other explanation for erratic firing on all the walls. And I'm doubtful Mr. Kidd did them himself at any point in his life."

"How do you know that?" Sam asked from behind.

"We looked him up," Nick answered for her, "he's a quiet goat. His hobbies only involve fishing. No hunting for gators or anything like that, plus the gun community here is small enough to keep well track of and he isn't part of it."

They finally reach a clearing that opened up into the lake, wide and expansive, connecting to a river some ways down the path. Sitting at the foot of the lake was a two-story cottage, an imposing old figure with aged wood that mats that the whole thing in a brown fit to match the forest as keenly.

Several other clad-in-brown deputies meandered about. They are largely uninterested in rejoining a crime scene they had already looked over, albeit poorly since the only forensics experts were out of town till just today. Many of them had taken to talking amongst themselves and not much else, one of them had even been lounging on the rocking chair on the front porch, to which Kaenid dejects to rub the bridge of his snout in disdain. "I'm sorry about this," he quickly apologizes to them before heading off to the lazy deputy. "Hey! Get off that thing! You're tampering with a crime scene!"

The pig lounging about made to retort until he saw the ZPD. Of course they were all in civilian, Nick in a black form-fitting dress shirt with rolled up sleeves and brown khakis and Judy in a tight white tee and shorts, but despite their apparel they were unmistakable as the famed duo from the beacon city. And no one takes on assisting with this case without Sheriff Creed going on about Sam and Bogo. The group is easily recognized by all the deputies, some with a hint of awe.

The collective glares are enough to make Nick wince and Sam to quirk an eyebrow. Judy, however, doesn't notice, focusing on the crime scene whilst cradled in Nick's tail. She cutely peeks over it, causing a hare deputy to grasp his chest, feeling his heart stop.

"I'm gonna take a look inside," Judy announces as she curls out of Nick's grasp, kit in hand.

"I'll find the Sheriff," Sam offers, "I'll go see what he knows and get back to you two."

Nick silently opts to check the front porch.

"Problem is, we don't know where the shooter was perched if he was nowhere inside," Kaenid says from behind him.

Nick investigates the beams that hold up the canopy and notices a diagonal hole on one of them. He eyes a distant dirt incline not too far from the cottage through the hole. _An attack as he came home?_ It would make sense. If the killer wanted a clean kill, he'd attack him as he was outside. "Were the doors locked?"

"Yup. We used his nephew's keys to unlock the house to find the bullets. But we've pretty much gathered that Mr. Kidd never made it inside since there was no struggle inside."

But Nick had his own suspicions. "No struggle doesn't mean there wasn't any entry." He looked through the door. There was a hallway that shot through the living room, adjacent to the kitchen, and connected to the stairs after another door. But by that door was a table and a little white telephone, which told him what he needed to know. Judy was in that same hallway, eying the bullet holes and then the telephone, then the hallway that led to it. Her eyes met his and it was clear that they had come to the same conclusion.

Nick then looks to the confused wolf beside him. He steps back to show Kaenid the bullet hole in the beam. "This shot right here was meditated, it wasn't random." He leans into it. "But it was a mistake. He missed his shot here at the front porch, making Mr. Kidd panic... then entered his house for safety." Nick looks up, as if considering something. "Which tells us that the weapon wasn't capable of any kind of automatic fire. He needed to bolt the gun again since Mr. Kidd found the time to get inside his house after the first shot."

The wolf was more than a little impressed, and if Nick noticed, he didn't pay it any mind, but he was skeptical still. "But what makes you think he made it inside?"

"The reason why the house was shot up was to hide the second bullet in a myriad of decoys. The second bullet that found its way into Mr. Kidd, incapacitating or killing him."

"I… still don't see how you came to that."

"When someone starts shooting you at your own home in an enclosed forest, where inside do you go first?"

"Uh… the bedroom? On the second floor… for safety?"

"No," Nick points down the hall, "the telephone. To try and call the police. And did you get that call?"

"We didn't…" Finally the canine got what he was trying to say. "And since we didn't get that call…."

"Then he never made it to the phone. Meaning he ended up somewhere from here to there before he was abducted… or killed."

Nick stepped down from the porch, leading Kaenid along with a hand on his shoulder. Nick points to the trees. "Get me a bullet line from those trees to the beam, and ready a second one for the hallway on the same spot, maybe another one just in case."

He pats him on the back as he goes, giving the vulpine a quick "Yes, sir!" on his way out.

"Kaenid!" Nick calls out again, stopping the wolf in his tracks. "And get some of those deputies of yours to canvas that area. Our killer may have left something there."

He nods as he calls the attention of other deputies.

Nick's eyes settle at the house again. He imagines the goat walking toward his front porch, fiddling with his keys unbeknownst to the killer in the treeline. Then a shot fires, whipping through the beam causing him to jump. He stumbles onto the porch, quickly finding the house key before entering the house.

The killer lines up another shot as he aims through the darkened windows of the house. A second shot fires… _but where?_

Inside, Nick found Judy spritzing luminol along the floor. The little bunny is careful as she canvas the floor. "Close the blinds and shut off the lights," she asks otter deputy behind her, who nods hesitantly before scurrying to do as she asked.

"What'd you find, Nick?"

"A shot through the beam on the front porch indicates that Mr. Kidd was attacked on his way in. And if he went to the phone as he got in…"

"Then a second shot put him down before he could make it," she finished, biting her lip as the gears in her head spin.

Nick leans down with her, as she spritzes the hardwood floor. "What does the blood tell us?"

The otter and her other deputies close the blinds, then the luminol makes the blood glow, a thin trail of splotches trailing down the hall. "That he survived the second shot…" The trail meant that the shot wasn't fatal. He dragged himself forward after he was hit.

She follows it with a few more sprays. The tiny splotches continue before a good foot from the phone, at a much wider pool illuminating grimly in the dark room. "Here."

"Woah." Nick thought but he could have sworn one of the deputies said it aloud. They were clearly disturbed by the scene. One of them backing off, but it was only blood. The otter deputy was more distraught than the rest, looking more in pain than mortified. She walks out.

 _Did she know our victim?_ Nick made a mental note to talk to her.

"This isn't enough blood to indicate that he bled out," Judy says, "but who's to say that our killer didn't cleanly finish the job when he came in to pick up the body."

"He'd have at least knocked him out. It makes it safe for him to clean up the house before leaving."

Judy approaches the walls, running her fingers over the bullet holes. She imagines the shots ringing through the woodwork, tearing up the opposite wall as they found no mark. Then she traces at the foot of the trail, a lone bullet hole off the side. And as she looks back, the adjacent wall has its own bullet hole.

She approaches it, spraying it with the luminol. The chemical mixes with the blood that suddenly shows itself clear as day as it glows eerily against the flower-patterned wall. "This is the second bullet."

The bullet should have ended up in the wall but it was absent, probably taken by the deputies. Nick had hoped that this bullet was one of the ones they missed but it seemed that he was wrong. Not only that but they didn't seem to know how to label the bullets corresponding to their holes, so they'd have to swab each one for blood, but really it wasn't necessary. If there was blood, it had to be Kidd's.

Judy found another wide blob of blood on the wall that slides down before lifting away. Then she notes the slight curve of blood that tracks into the hall. She knows what happened now.

The deputies and Nick clearly await her assessment, though Nick appears uneager about it. The deputies look at her with adoration, seeing a professional from the big city in action was exactly what they were looking for in a basically crimeless town. But the air around her partner seems thick, and his look is indecipherable, so neutral that it's almost blank.

Others would have looked at him and figured that he just tried to appear stoic, but Judy could see through the smokescreen into the real him. The vulpine with the quivering fingers, and a static tail. He too knew what happened and didn't like it.

She points to the foot of the blood trail. "Mr. Kidd was shot through the shoulder here as he ran for the phone."

Her hands fold out to the wall. "Then he reels from the shot, slamming into the wall." She then gestures to the wide sliding splotch, "the pattern here suggests that he fell on his shoulder then slid to about knee-level."

"He must have realized that the window gave him away so he crawled out of sight despite the pain." She walks towards the phone, parting the curious deputies.

"He never makes it to the phone though." She gestures to the largest pool of blood on the floor. "It's clear that he collapsed here, bleeding out from what seems to be…" she leans in, noting the way the blood fans out further outward on the upper and right side of it, "his right shoulder."

"But he was shot in the shoulder," a young fox deputy asks, "how could he have collapsed so quickly?"

"Cause it wasn't the blood loss that knocked him out," Nick wanted to say, but Judy beat him to it. "Our killer must have walked through the unlocked front door when he realized he'd hit his mark. He'd snuck up behind him then–" she motions as if blunting someone with a rifle "–lights out."

"Good work," Sam says through the suddenly wide open window and parted blinds, "but it doesn't mean a thing if we can't match that blood to Mr. Kidd." She turns to the deputies. "Can any of you manage that while we continue investigating?"

Some of them stare at her incredulously, much to her chagrin. "But it's so obvious that it is! Why do we even have to?"

 _Fucking amateurs…_ She pinches her snout but maintains her cool. This is, after all, just a bunch of ignorant public servants, not that drunkard Pride. "Cause this is homicide forensics, kid, we don't deal ninety-nine percent most-probablys; we deal with a hundred and ten percent certainties and without-a-doubts. Any less means it's inconclusive."

"Well that's stupid!" another one of the younger deputies spats.

"It's the law." Nick interjects irritably. "Ever heard of reasonable doubt? It's when a criminal gets out scot-free just cause he _might_ not have done it. We can't afford to have that sort of slip up."

Nick too gets the baleful look of the lazy deputies and he'll admit that even he was getting real annoyed. The snarl ghosting at his lips hides the baring of his fangs but he isn't the only one.

Judy is silently seething because this is just a waste of time and it's not like they're going to be doing anything when they get back. She could assume that they don't even know how to do it but there's a manual and the time it takes for them to figure it out won't take much longer than them going around town to follow their other leads.

Her voice comes off neutral but with the same elegance of the present Bengal tiger, a calm that surprises Sam and Nick both. "Basing off the assumption alone is not solid evidence that will hold in court and we'd rather not have to deal with that hurtle if we manage to get there. If we don't do things by the book and let things slip through the cracks, then we risk the chance of giving our killer ammunition that he could use to get out of incarceration. And you know what happens when a killer can prove he can beat the legal system?"

"Um… what?" the same young deputy asks.

"He'll grow confident and will likely kill again. Now none of us want that happening, don't we?" She talks them down like an impartial mother or a straight-faced teacher, a persona that is clear that they recognize. And it works on them, if the way they look at her with attention has anything to say about it. "Now go get the samples. We'll expect them tonight."

They scurry along as Nick and Judy make their way outside.

"So where'd you pick that up?" It surprises him how quickly she dissolved her apparent anger but it was clear she wanted him to calm down as well.

And just like that, he was smiling again. "I pretended to be a lawyer once to save another conman who was pretending to be rich."

"You know, you could have just told me you learnt about it when you were studying for the police exam."

"That would have been a good lie, huh?" He scratches his chin contemplatively.

"It would have but it's still good to see that your honesty is still-" she leans into him, tapping her fist on his chest as if checking the density of a wall "-ironclad."

"Only with you, Carrots. I'm still very much allowed to lie to everyone else."

"Please don't tell me that's going to make things complicated later."

"'Course not. Have a little faith in me."

She quirks an eyebrow at the conman turned cop, whose rich history still looms over the edges of him like an aura that is almost utterly smug. That echoes his personality and characterized his signature smirk. That made him the clever, dependable, and occasionally insufferable fox that he was. Who saved her life time and time again, almost as much as she has with him.

"You're lucky I don't just turn you in after all these confessions, Mr. Wilde." She could not help but look smug herself.

He could not express how absolutely proud he was for that. "Sounds like a challenge, Ms. Hopps, but I know you'd never do that."

"And why is that, dare I ask?" She crosses her arms, expecting another sly remark.

He would not disappoint her. "Cause like it or not," he leans, "you _love_ having me around."

"I could say the same," there is a hint of something else in her tone, one that is husky and freezes him as she breathes into his ear in a voice that is slow yet undeniably sexy, " _Fox Boy._ "

He can tell she's trying to sound like Liandra, but on Judy it works. It works _too_ well and he's stunned. "J-Judy! That's not fair!"

He hustles over to her as they meet with the Sheriff and Sam by the incline.

Nick taps the red string that is supposed to be his bullet line. He looks down it and sees it run clean through bullet hole on the porch. He twangs the line again, seeing it come back cleanly into place. "This one's real tense. You're pretty good at this, Deputy Kaenid."

The wolf in question tries to hide how happy he is for the praise. "Yeah, Sheriff taught me well."

The sheriff in question pats him in the back. "He does indeed, but he still has a lot to learn."

Sheriff Denzel Creed is a polar bear with a rich history, carved into his every feature. A scar runs down the side of his cheek, cleaving through the thick white fur in a pale curve. Around his neck is a golden cross that is burnt on its lower end. His arms have their own tales to tell, with stains on the fur around his knuckles that are faint but discolor the otherwise full valley of pristine white; a sign of hard fought battles and victories to his name.

Judy knows his past is more than it appears but only really knows that he worked with Sam and Bogo. And that fact was all they needed to know. Because for as long as those two trust this man, she would too.

Nick on the other hand understands very well who Denzel Creed is. Former capo to the illustrious Big Mafia who got clean and joined the force, then up and left to be sheriff in a town that was likely not to ask too many questions and have even less crimes. He fears the man just as much as he respects him, which is a lot, and it shows in the way that he appears serious instead of being self-assured.

Just like Bogo he hails from Halberd, a country not too far east off of their own, on a continent that is very much English, just like his accent. "We apologize for being late, we'd just flown in from Cordrose on vacation. Our young Terence may have even met a few ladies while we were there." Creed nudges Kaenid who coughs nervously.

He clearly didn't want that part of the trip discussed. "Yes, um… shall I have a line ready for your second bullet hole, Officer Wilde?"

"Sure, let me show you where."

As Nick ushered Kaenid away again, Judy was left to her thoughts whilst Sam relayed their findings to Sheriff Creed.

On the day of the kidnapping it had been raining, perfect time to clear up the tracks and kept him hidden alongside evening's veil but it likely blurred his vision of the shot. But why didn't he just take him on the pathway here rather than wait for him to get home and leave incriminating evidence? Maybe he arrived late? Or… maybe there was something here that tied him to the spot?

She ran the events in her head again and again. The fact that the killer arrived late seemed to make the most sense why he'd wait for Mr. Kidd but it didn't make _enough_ sense. She spied the path that rimmed the lake and saw that most of it was covered in trees. She hopped onto the top of the incline, much to the surprise of the older officers, and still couldn't clearly see it very well. The easiest places to aim and fire given the conditions, sacrificed for this spot… _but why?_

Kaenid came back as he set the wire onto a tripod atop the incline. With a few more adjustments, the deputy knelt by them. "I'd say our killer was about two to four feet tall? Give or take if he was prone or kneeling. Like a wolf maybe, or a fox."

That's when it hit her. "No," she said suddenly.

Creed had made a motion to answer but he waited for her. He wanted to see what she had discovered.

"What do you mean, Officer Hopps?"

She looked at the incline, seeing it slope downward into the relatively even terrain around the cottage. "This incline was chosen for a reason. The perch on top may not have been where he waited."

She grabs the second tripod. "Could you move this to the foot of the slope?"

He nods then takes it down. "Oh." He extends the tripods height to match the other. Twisting a nob, the wire tightens again. "If he was taller and standing here, he could still clear both shots. Making him… six or seven feet if he was here?"

"That's not all," she replies. She slides into the middle on the incline itself. "Now imagine if he was here."

"There'd be no real way to tell how tall he was then."

"He picked this spot to vary his height. And with a mounted gun while lying prone at the top, he could be as small as a mouse for all we know."

"Sheriff," a ram from behind the trees calls, "I think you should see this."

They looked to each other, then followed after him. They were led to a few dying flora with twigs jutting out like menacing thorns.

"What'd you find?" Creed asks.

"This." He shows them a piece of green woven wool that snagged onto a branch.

"Think it belongs to our killer?" Sam asked, inspecting it.

"Take photos with some measurements for height," Creed commanded. "Then take it for DNA testing. And do it with care, would you? This might be the piece of evidence we're looking for."

Kaenid nodded before bolting off to his camera somewhere.

Nick breaks off from the rest, Judy tailing behind him. He eyes the otter girl from before, the one shaken when she saw the blood and musters up all the empathy he can to handle what is likely to be a delicate yet potentially vital matter.

She's sitting alone on the dock, dangling her feet over the edge, sighing as she matches her reflection in the water. She was upright, at attention like she knew they were watching her, but then she wilted like a dying flower. They could practically feel her heart drop.

"Hey, kiddo, everything alright?" Nick's approach is gentle like he's afraid that coming in too quickly would scare her off. Judy thinks it's sweet but rather unnecessary.

"O–oh! You two! Um… I'm – I'm so sorry about walking out on you two. I... I just couldn't take it."

"The blood or… is there something else?"

"I knew Mr. Kidd. I was actually kinda hoping he just… went on vacation, you know? Maybe he just didn't tell anybody." She sniffled, forcing back tears as her voice became hoarse. "I even came up with this whole speech I'd give him when I saw him again." She choked. "About how angry I was because he made us worry but… but… that I was glad he was okay…" She couldn't hold them back any longer, and Judy made to cradle her. Nick, too, followed.

It was like a misfit family reunion, and Sam could not help but envy it. She watched them from a distance, leaning on the railing of the front porch, mulling over thoughts she knew she shouldn't be having.

"They're really something, aren't they?" Creed would have scared her had he not done this all the time before. Sneaking up on her was a trait he was adept at, which was strange given that he was a polar bear.

"I'll say."

"They not only shared our assumptions about the bullet holes but even took to the crime scene like you and Bogo did."

"We weren't like that on our first day together. We were uneasy, didn't trust each other yet. I actually opted for reassignment."

"That's exactly what I mean. They're like you two… just without the pitfalls."

It's a blatant comparison and she knows it. Really, she'd be more insulted if it was any less true. It took her and Bogo a year to finally start enjoying each other's company and that was only because they saved each other's lives. But these two didn't have the same issues. The way she heard it, they were friends within forty-eight hours of knowing each other and have been close ever since.

Creed was someone she looked up to, someone she'd pain to get the approval of. It took her a while to earn it but the way he paralleled them struck her deep. And she felt like he'd stabbed her. "There something you want to say, old man?"

"Nothing really. Just surprised that you aren't more… proud of them."

 _Proud?_ At first she thought he was saying they were better than her, but now she didn't know what to think. "They're upstarts. Their major cases were done bloodless and clean. They haven't seen half the shit I have." And that makes her better than them, right?

"You're not fooling me, Samsara. I know this isn't about them being naïve."

"Then what _is_ it about?"

He bore his teeth, biting back the words that trickled at his lips. He almost didn't say it, because maybe it was a bit much, maybe she needed to figure it out for herself but he steeled himself. She was always like a daughter to him, spry and young, ever eager to prove herself to him, but now she's clearly a woman with a few flaws she has yet to recognize, suddenly too old to consider that her supposedly flawless persona what made her a legend had a few kinks in it. But the word tastes sour, and hinges off his jaw like it couldn't fit in his mouth but he says it anyway, "Envy, Sam. Envy."

She scoffs. "That's rich, Creed. You sure you aren't getting delusional in your old age?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? They're young, intelligent, with talent well beyond their years. Additionally, their partnership is inherently healthy. They've known each other for what… eight months? And already their own relationship is leagues beyond you and Bogo."

 _Leagues beyond- what!?_ "Did you forget that I slept with Bogo? These two haven't even fucked yet. I bet you the rabbit's still a virgin what with the innocuous look in her eyes."

"You were drunk, Sam. You and him both." She doesn't like the way he says it because he sounds like he's right and oh so sure about it… Which is true. And if there's anything Samsara Stripes knew about Denzel Creed, it was that you don't win an argument with him. Cause he only ever speaks up about something when it needs to be addressed, when he's absolutely sure he's right.

"Intimacies aside," he continues, "it's clear that on an emotional level, they're teetering off the edge of their friendship to something more. Whilst _you_ haven't spoken to _him_ in years."

There's a brief pause, brief enough for Creed to notice. Brief enough for her argument to falter before him. "So what if they're close? It doesn't fuck all mean anything…" She'd stopped thinking, letting words spill out of her mouth like she was cornered.

"It does. You keep comparing yourself to those two and you'll end up compromising the case just because you couldn't keep your wits about the job."

 _It's always about work, huh?_ "I've got it, Creed. My head's always on the case. You know me."

"I thought I did… until you lost it with Calvary."

"That dirty snitch…" she muttered angrily.

"He didn't report it, and neither did his assistant." He sighed, letting her clear her head for a moment.

Her arms collapsed onto the railing, hiding from her shame, pressing her forehead onto clenched knuckles. _Fucking Calvary…_

"I heard it from Carrie," he says. "She was always quite afraid of you and told me right away when I arrived for my morning coffee."

Of course it was the waitress. She couldn't blame her though. Sam was particularly loud and rude to their town mayor of all people. Carrie had to have talked to Creed about it. She should have known this would bite her in the ass. It always does when she loses her cool.

"I know this was supposed to be a better reunion but there's no helping it when you go off on your own. I've always admired the way you trusted your gut, but just this once, you have to let it go."

"Don't you find it strange how Calvary cleaned up so fucking fast?" she spat. "He was off the suspect list for being a dumb drunk, but right now he isn't. That makes him an eligible suspect."

It had to be him. She felt so sure about it too. More sure than she'd ever been about anything else. She needed to seat herself in an idea she can gear towards. She didn't like the idea of not knowing enough because that made her vulnerable. Someone had to be her target, and she was hell-bent on making it Calvary.

But Creed followed Calvary before. Tailed him for days just to see if he was the guy they were looking for. But the disappearances kept happening and Calvary kept passing out on the sidewalk. That isn't to say that he may not be the new criminal if the killer this time around is any different but on the day Kidd was taken, he and Calvary were out drinking. Well, _he_ was drinking, Calvary Pride hadn't picked up a bottle in years. "I've looked into the possibility that it was him, long after you and Bogo dismissed it. And I've since concluded that he's not."

"Maybe you missed something."

"Or maybe you're trying to put a face on the monster in your nightmares so it's easier to live with."

"That's unfair, Creed…"

"Am I wrong?" He wasn't.

"God knows I wish you were." And she knew it.

Gentle paws found their way on her shoulders, relaxing her. He'd done this before when times were tough. Unlike Bogo and his sexual tension, Creed was around like a father figure. She relished in their time together, pained when he left, but he was here again, cradling the terrified kitten that was still somewhere inside her just like before. "Sam, this case, this place, this town… I know what it does to you. I'm surprised you even came back after everything that happened… It took a lot of strength to come back here. But the fact of the matter is that you're not ready to give it your all for this case just yet."

She wanted to argue, defend herself but the walls she puts up are transparent in his eyes. She didn't need to look at him to know what face he was making. The affectionate pity was well enough described in his voice.

"There's a party," he says, "tonight at… City Hall. Come with me there. We'll unwind, take a few drinks, and… catch up. What do you say?"

A single laugh escapes her and she looks at him over her shoulder, smiling like she always did. "Is this your version of therapy, old man?"

"If it was therapy it'd be for me. Otherwise I wouldn't be offering to get drunk out of my own mind."

Whatever happiness she felt drained from her features. "So this is how we're starting this long, hard road we're on?"

"Today we've uncovered more than we ever hoped for. It's a good start. Worth celebrating."

"We're still nowhere closer to finding our killer."

"We'll celebrate every little victory while we can, Sam. You and I both know that there won't be much time for that later on."

* * *

Melissa "Liz" Waterdale, a young but compassionate deputy, was on the force to make herself a dependable and righteous figure for her sisters to look up to. Yet here she was, cradled in the arms of a fluffy bunny like she was a child who needed to be protected from the world because she couldn't stop crying. She wouldn't say how comforting it was or how much more safe she felt, especially with a strong and particularly funny fox in the driver's seat. She was next to Judy on the passenger seat, more than enough room for them both. Between them she felt so much smaller.

They drove out of the crime scene ten minutes ago and she had offered to show them the only gun shop in town: _Buckshot._ A few blocks into town on the west side, secluded and basically invisible at night.

The offer to take them there was more of an excuse to get away from her coworkers. One in particular, she tells them, was Reeder Hamilton, another otter who was not only a childhood friend but also her soon-to-be boyfriend. But she didn't want to harm their romantic chances by being emotional in front of him since his uncle was a victim and Reeder had always looked to her for strength. Backlash from seeing that strength falter was something she wasn't willing to risk.

"If he really loves you, then you should have nothing to worry about," was the gist of what they'd been trying to tell her. But she was stubborn and personally wanted some distance between herself and him so they didn't press any further.

Judy embraced her like a fragile child and it was honestly quite embarassing, but whatever protests she had melted away in the contours of her fur. "So how close were you and Mr. Kidd?" Judy asks, tilting down to meet her gaze.

"We were really close. Old Monty, we called him." She laughs quietly at the little memory, clutching at the hem of her uniform like she'd told an embarrassing secret. "Me and the Fyfly kids used to play in his yard and maybe swim in the lake and he'd just watch us sometimes or maybe sleep on his rocking chair. On hotter days he'd join us, and maybe tell us stories about his own kids."

"Excuse me, Fyfly?" Nick asked, fingers impatiently dancing at the wheel as he hopes to see the town at the end of this long stretch of southern country road.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forget that you're not from around here. Fyfly was a band that played by the Horace Memorial. Me and a few other kids actually liked them, even if they only ever made noise and never any real music. Juvenile pleasures come easy, you know? They moved away a long time ago but my group got a nickname after them in loving memory of our time together, and we became our own little club."

"I'm sorry, it must've been really hard on you guys." Judy ran a tentative stroke down her tiny arm, still weary of her fragile little frame.

Nick breathes a sigh of relief when the town finally comes into view. He'll hate this road forever, he's sure. He remembers that it was just as insufferably long as it was the last time he was here and he'd never get used to it. Maybe the killer will do him a favor and keep the kidnappings in the town this time?

 _That came out of nowhere._ That cynicism shocked him, a grim thought he was glad he didn't say aloud. _Is something wrong with me?_

They approached the "Welcome to Bronc Town" sign which was not too far from the town proper. Nick would have sighed in relief had he not caught a glimpse of a solitary crow nestled atop the sign itself.

He stopped the car suddenly, leaving the other two to wonder. He gives the crow a suspicious look, rapping away at the steering wheel. "Looks like there may be a body somewhere, cause I'm pretty sure the crops are north in the other direction."

Liz stood up from her seat, peering through the window. She finds the crow quickly and chuckles under her breath. "Oh, that? It's nothing to worry about. The crows are always around town at noon. They're real abundant here. Even have a little aviary for them down in Perigreen Street, not too far from the hotel you two are staying in."

Nick takes her advice and presses on.

Town proper is an uneasy yet welcome sight as always. Well, welcome for the people, not them. The townsfolk are smiling as always, waving at the Pursuer but Judy wonders if they should just roll up the windows and let the tint work their magic. Though, honestly, they would probably wave anyway. It would not have been so bothersome this time around, really. Calvary's explanation for the eerie amount of pep was enough to make them bear with it for their sakes.

But then there were the crows.

They did not overrun the town by any means, but they were a frequent sight. A few on the buildings, a congregation of them on the Horace Memorial, even a few being fed like pigeons by the same old badger who sold them a bouquet. She, too, waved at them.

They awkwardly waved back, sans Liz who was eager to greet her.

"Why are there so many crows?" Judy asks, hints of fear matting her features.

Liz seemed excited to be asked. "Would you believe there's a story behind it? Legend has it that the crows migrated here when the last Cavalry War took place. There were so many bodies that the crows grew bloated and sick. And even _more_ crows came to pick from _them._ They feasted for months until they made a home here."

"That's a pretty dark story for a small town."

"The town was built on the ashes of an old horse village. I think you should be more surprised there aren't too much more."

It did not take long for them to find the gun shop. Nick half remembered the place from when he came to town last. He was only there for a second because Finnick heard that they may have guns in his size. He didn't think he'd like the place but the assistant shop keep, Samuel, was good at conversation, even if they didn't end up buying anything. _Maybe Smith is still there._

 _Buckshot_ was made on a bold yet unlit neon sign over the shop. They didn't know too much about the place other than that they sold guns to the local gator hunting community who frequented a swamp a few miles east of town. Nick had a hunch that they may be dumping bodies there if any one of them was the killer. Judy concurred, thinking that the gators may have been eating the bodies.

The shop is owned by Sambaure Tarpanaurouch Javanarusa, or _Bucky_ for short since his name is always hard to pronounce and Sam wasn't as catchy. Plus, no one could tell if calling him either "Sam-bar" or "Sam-bower" would be politically or socially correct. Liz says that he doesn't care but they're mindful of it regardless.

Entering, the door hit a bell that was hanging over the door. An oryx and a hornless male deer skid out of the backroom and onto the counter. "Welcome ta' Buckshot! Home to all yer' huntin' needs!" the oryx said aloud. "We offer all manner o'-" He zeroed in at Nick who seemed just as surprised to see him. "John!?"

"Smith! I figured you'd still be here." Nick saunters over to the counter, suddenly painfully aware that he isn't wearing his tie. The look to him is urban, domestic, nothing like his roguish entrepreneur getup he usually wore. Now in the face of an old associate, he could not help but feel embarrassed.

"You know them, Smith?" Bucky asks, just as bemused as Judy and Liz.

"Just the fox, Buck. I met 'im a few years back when you were on yer' big, fancy, honeymoon with Asha."

Smith's smile fell when he looked at Nick again. He inspected him closely, suddenly leaning in. "Is yer'… eye swollen?" He points a finger at him. "John what you gon' and done this time?"

Nick mostly looked normal, save for the slight bulge you'd only really noticed if you took a close enough look. Judy was no expert on makeup but she knew how to cover injuries like they were never there, a skill learned more out of a curiosity of whether or not she can pull it off. Plus, painting fur in temporary dyes was fun.

"Keen as ever, aren't ya, Smith? No, this was an accident. You know you're the first one to notice."

"Gotta keep the peepers sharp." Smith gestures at his own eyes. "Ain't no one usin' counterfeits in here like yer' pal Finnick did."

Liz tried her best to appear unperturbed but she could not help but look vexed. _Counterfeiting?_

"So you here on another job?" Smith asked, sparing a glance at Judy. A knowing smile crested his lips, a soft chuckle making its way out of them. "I see you even switched up your partner."

"Ha! No, Smith, I'm legit, a cop even. The con life is behind me now."

Smith laughed. "Of all the ironies. Man of the uniform now, eh? That mean I finally get to know yer real name?"

"It's Nick, actually. Not John, that's my father's name." He pulls Judy over to him. "And _this_ is my partner, Judy."

"Nick? Suits ya." He extends a hand to Judy who takes it. "A pleasure to meet ya, Miss Judy." He then pulls over Bucky, the large deer towering over them all but is ironically rather shy. "This is my ol' pal, Sammy."

He waves at them sheepishly. "Um… Just call me Bucky. Only Smith here ever really calls me that." Pulling out of his grasp, Bucky then waves, more casually this time, at Liz. "Hey there, Liz."

"Hey, Bucky." The otter girl clambers onto the wooden paneling of the mostly glass counter.

"So what are you all doing here then? I can't imagine the sheriff's in need of any more firearms."

"We're actually here on ZPD business," Nick answers.

"Yeah," Judy says as she pulls out a notepad with her carrot pen, "we were hoping to have your help with a case."

"Certainly." Bucky doesn't hesitate, unlike Smith who was occupied with being confused. "Anything you need."

"Great!" Judy hops onto the counter with Liz. "I'm assuming you two have sales records?"

"It's in the back." Bucky points behind him then looks to Smith who nods then leaves the room for it. "Mind if I ask what all this is about?"

The officers looked at each other.

Typically they'd say it was on a need-to-know basis but in a small town like this, he'll end up figuring it out anyway if common sense didn't tell him first. It was already no secret that a gun was involved in Mr. Kidd's kidnapping. Even Carrie from the diner talked about it in passing when she was talking to a customer. _Chances are the killer knows that we know too._

Nick made to answer. "We found out that a rifle was used in a crime scene. All we really know about it is that it chambered 308 rounds and is likely scoped. What we need to know from you is if you've made any dealings involving that kind of round or a weapon that can use it."

Bucky lay a gentle hand on Liz's shoulder who looked up at him thankfully. He could tell she was struggling, well aware of her history with the Fyfly kids and Mr. Kidd. She's shed her tears already. All she was left with was the pain that billowed beneath the surface.

"I'll do anything I can to help you out," Bucky says, giving them a neutral look.

"Nasty business, that," Smith says as he carries out the large log book that is pressed against his chest and wrapped around his arms. He gently sets down the large thing on the counter, letting Bucky flip over to the latest pages.

The bell by the door chimes.

A well-aged portly pig, looking like he was in his early fifties or late forties walked into the room. His clean frame and strong posture is accented by the steely gray strands of hair on his head. He is a solid three inches taller than Nick, with signs of muscle still laced around his rather plump features. In his hand is plastic bag with a bright orange smiling pig logo with the word " _Savory_ " in a cursive font curved underneath.

"Marcus!" Smith said. "Here for yer order, I'm assumin'?"

"I was hopin' it'd arrived, yeah, but I'm mostly here for delivery." He hands the oryx the plastic. "Twenty orders of freshly baked banana muffins and ten orders of French bread."

He then regarded Nick and Judy, "also thought I'd come see the city-folk. Saw your car parked outside. _Mighty_ thing, that." He extends a firm hand that Nick shakes. The grip is steady and tense, a clear defiance of his otherwise atypical features, just as elusive as his muscles. "Marcus Hector, at your service." His accent is as refined as Calvary's, attributing to the air of confidence the two men share.

"Judy Hopps," she introduced herself. "I'm actually a farm girl myself. I only moved to the city just last year."

"Nick Wilde," he followed, physically resisting making a witty quip.

"Marcus here runs a bakery by Stable Village," Bucky explains, looking up from the log book, "best bread and cakes you'll taste in town yet."

"It's right next to the entrance of the neighborhood, can't miss it," Marcus directs. "If you ZPD folk ever want ta' try 'em out, my door's always open. I'll even make your first order free."

"I recommend taking him up on that," Liz chimed, "you'll regret passing it up if you don't, trust me."

Nick was impressed. He was a charismatic businessman, just like Nick used to be. He saw the opportunity in fresh faces surrounded by satisfied customers. He didn't even need to introduce his business even if the branded bag didn't give it away. Bucky went straight for advertising him and the rest quickly followed. He could really come to respect a man who can play a scenario like that.

Judy, meanwhile, was simply taken by his charm. He seemed very much like what Gideon would be one day, and the memories of the now friendly fox helped shape Marcus in her head. If they were as alike as they seem to be, they'd get along great if they ever met. But Gideon was nowhere near the baking veteran this pig certainly seemed to be. _Maybe he could teach him a thing or two._

The pair looked at each other and nodded.

"Eh, why not," Nick answered.

"I'll be happy to have ya."

Smith took Marcus aside to talk, leaving the rest of them to the matter at hand.

Flipping through the pages was mostly difficult because it had dried from being rained on last night. The pages peeled off each other slowly as Bucky made sure not to damage any potential evidence. Minutes passed till he finally reached where he needed to.

He dragged a finger over names and orders. His finger stops, eyes widening for a moment before scanning again. He turns back a few pages while leaving a finger on his last as a bookmark. He finds another, nods, then scans again. He finds no other names.

"We've got two names for the last few months who ordered anything akin to a 308: Three boxes of Rockhopper brand 308 Winchester ammunition sold to a Mr. Quagmire Green on June 29, and a brand new Browning BLR sold to a Miss Liandra Hunt on July 22."

"Liandra?" Judy quirked a brow. "You mean Mayor Pride's head of security?"

"No other like her in town. She was real excited for that rifle too."

"Any accessories?" Nick inquired.

"Nope. She didn't even buy ammunition. Plus, the cartridge was empty when we gave it to her. We typically load the guns as a courtesy since all of our customers are responsible but she took it when we pulled it out of the box and bolted right out of here."

From what Judy gathered from Creed about Liandra was that she was relatively new face in town, only two years in a town where everyone's known each other their entire lives. Someone like that tends to be ignored unless she announces herself. Someone who doesn't need to stand out, maintaining a command over her own visibility. And in the shadow of a figure head like Calvary, she becomes a piece of the backdrop, easily hidden.

"Did she seem anxious in any way? As if she was in a hurry to get somewhere?" she asked.

"Just that she was excited to have the gun. Whether or not she really wanted to use it is up for interpretation."

Nick huffed. "Guess we're about to find out."

* * *

Not too far from City Hall was Stable Village, a neighborhood covered in so many modern pleasantries that you forget that about half of these people travel three miles east to do some farming. Sprinklers and lawnmowers, a car or two or three, a life guard high chair peeking over the fence or maybe diving board, trampolines and seesaws, pink flamingos and garden gnolls. If any place had ever felt so domestic, it was here.

And it made Nick cringe. "I think they're trying too hard."

She'd admit that the place kind of looked… artificial. Like a scene out of a sitcom or a suburban nightmare. The residents still smiled then too, which wasn't making it any more comfortable.

Despite all the colors, the neighborhood held the unsettling coalition that mixed with the crows. They dotted the landscape here much more frequently and splotched the colors of the otherwise brimming neighborhood with their caws and general unease that came when they congregated.

If they were ever to take up Calvary's offer of coming back here someday, they would have to avoid the neighborhood like the plague. Because they were sure that the sight would be uncomfortable, grave case or no.

"You think it might be her?" Judy asks suddenly, eyes still focused on the road with her fingers wrapped loosely on the wheel.

Nick leans his furry chin on his knuckle, propping an elbow on the door. He mulls over the question momentarily, chewing his lip as he bites back disconcerting thoughts about An flirting. "I don't think so," he confesses, "the MO needs someone who revels in being overlooked."

"And An doesn't fit that for you?"

"I think she likes to call attention to herself far too often to be. Still, I'm not about to pass up a lead just cause I don't feel that she's it." Nick spares a glance at a dancing hippo who left his window open, cringing suddenly when he realizes that his shirt is only so dark because he'd been sweating in it till it was completely drenched. He wants to keep his mind off everything else at this point. "What-" he holds back a hurl. "What about you?"

"I'm not too sure myself." Her loose, relaxed handle of the steering wheel notably tightens as she wrestles with the thought. "She's certainly an enigma and her position allows her to manipulate how she or anyone around her is being monitored but that hardly means anything when you're... well _her._ " She's too quick to announce herself, too foolhardy and loud. If this was what she was when Calvary is keeping her in check, how much worse will she be when she's _alone?_ She cringed.

"Bummer." He leans back, letting his foot fall onto the dashboard as his shades fall back over his eyes. "And here I thought I'd lounge by a beach come next week."

"Nick, even if we did catch the killer this early, I'm doubtful Bogo would let us go so quickly."

"Wanna bet, Whiskers?"

She smirked. "Depends on the stakes."

Judy doesn't gamble. She prefers games with sure calculated outcomes, not variables that leave things completely up to chance. But with Nick it's fun, and it usually doesn't cost anything. She'd consider it a vice if it wasn't so genuinely entertaining.

"When this case is done," he says, "and Bogo gives us a week off, you'll do all the driving for a week."

"Make it a month and I'll throw in a box of blueberries."

"Oh, that's a tall order, Carrots. So what do you got for me?"

"If he doesn't, I get to meet your parents." A satisfied smirk creases her cheeks and the look of shock that shatters his cheeky grin makes it all the more pleasing.

His parents were separated and incredibly awkward around Nick's friends. To meet one was to condemn him to a full few hours of broken pride as his juvenile secrets pour out, making him naked and without the swagger. "Both of them?"

"Eyup." Two whole trips to either parent, each filled with their own stock hold of embarrassing ammunition to use on Nick. She could tease him for as long as they lived. A prize worth a lifetime.

He was clearly distraught. He was on the losing end here. A month without driving and a box of blueberries? How could he end up with something so comparatively weak? "I don't think the offer matches, Carrots."

"Then change it. I'm sticking to mine, Nick, like it or not."

"Fine, if I win, I get to meet _your_ parents."

 _That all you got, Wilde?_ She chortles. "You were gonna meet them anyway."

"Oh, I'm not finished." His grin has the makings of sweet, sweet vengeance, ambling towards the kicker that made potentially losing worth it. "You'll also have to tell them we're dating."

Her smile quickly drained, a look of delicious horror that Nick reveled in. Then from her cheeks to her ears, she blushed harder than he'd ever seen her as she thought long and hard about the consequences of that. "N-Nick!"

"I'm sticking to mine, whether you like it or not."

"You can't be serious." She narrowed, trying to pry him open with a gaze alone but he's set on his bet and she wasn't sure who had the better one.

"You can correct it however you want, Carrots, but I expect at least a full day of you _rolling with it._ " He bit his lip in clear enjoyment, relishing in her discomfort.

She chewed her own lip but for very different reason. "Alright. But if I win, you'll have to look domestic. I'll pick out what you'll wear. Oh, and no tie."

He looked as if she was telling him to break up with his girlfriend. "How could you even suggest separating us?"

"I'm gonna be lying to my parents just so you can get a good laugh. I think this constitutes letting me doll you up."

"You almost sound like you're admitting defeat."

"Just you wait till I wipe that smug look off your face." Her own smirk returns, matching his confidence.

"You can back out of this bet anytime, Carrots."

"No… It's a deal. You're gonna regret making this bet with me, Wilde." She would not be outdone.

"I think it's the other way around." And neither would he.

Off on the far corner of the neighborhood was a private property where only those who can afford it live. It has its own guard houses for the only exit and the only the entrance. The guards saw the logo on the Pursuer and let them in without question.

The houses here were situated far apart with open lots in the gaps between. These empty lots still held trimmed grass. On some of them, mole gardeners tended to them. As if the high walls of the area weren't enough to keep the place secluded, the houses themselves sometimes had their own walls, but not all. It was certainly a saner contrast to the rest of the neighborhood, less colors and, though they can't explain how they did it, no crows.

To Nick the place was one of familiarity. He'd been to many rich neighborhoods, littered with the elite and the exorbitantly rich. He looked at every building and, to his curious disposition, found himself seeing each one as a potential hit. Larger buildings with open windows on the upper floors usually indicated irresponsible rich children, but the sound of a laughing hooker or two could say the same. Personal guards and big garages indicated lavish lifestyles. A lone cigarette on the yard where the hired help hadn't cleaned yet meant a troubled resident. An old or commercial car parked outside usually meant that either friends were on the property or someone was having an affair.

All these things he could use to find a target to scam. Though some rich folk stay smart and aren't so easily fooled, their children are. Especially the eager-to-please ones. Those with vices could be easily manipulated with either a social call for their drinking or smoking. The easiest vice to blackmail with, however, was infidelity.

And as they passed by a large three-story house, a heavy moan audibly resounding from the upper floor caught their ears. Judy tried to ignore it and drove but Nick's eyes were alert. There was a hoodless car parked outside, smelling of cigarette and promiscuous escapades. A teenage lion walked out of the garage, pulling out his bike, and Nick could see that one of two cars in it was missing. If there was ever any clearer sign that the father here was cheating on his wife, his son angrily looking up at the window then biking away with headphones set to max was all the information he needed.

The kid glances at the ZPD Pursuer then shakes his head. Nick was grateful that their windows were rolled up to hide them behind the tint.

That house was ripe opportunity for a con but Nick bit his lip and ignored it. Easy hits like these are a rarity, like an unsuccessful Razor Back album, and he passed it up. Finnick would have been so disappointed.

He heaves a dejected sigh, one Judy notices. She doesn't wonder why, just places a hand on his and smiles. He'd be lying if he said that that wasn't enough. Nick was happy being a cop, and being one beside her made it all the better.

They pulled up at a moderate two-story house. It has slate black walls that make no room for windows save for the upper floor that has a room with glass walls. The upper floor looks to only have one room in it, save for the large glass-covered hallway. Perched eerily on the railing there was a crow, staring at them.

Nick squinted at the crow, wondering why it spied them so intently, or why it was the only one in the area. Then it cawed before flying away.

Walking out of the car, Judy noticed how the Pursuer stood out so openly everywhere they went, even here. They basically announced themselves in a vehicle like this, no subtlety in coming to it. Perhaps there was a way to remedy that?

They approached the black wooden door and rang the fancy lion head doorbell that roared as it clicked.

Judy could only faintly hear her footsteps as she approached. _She's light on her feet, that's for sure._ The door soon swung open revealing Liandra Hunt, as vulgar in appearance as she is in personality, in a loose-fitting Tee and baggy little cargo shorts with the top button undone. "Oh, hey, if it isn't the power couple. Here for a threesome or are you just here to bore me with speculation?"

They deadpanned, choosing to ignore that first part.

Suddenly she slapped her forehead, much to their surprise. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me." She stepped back to give them room to enter. "Please come in."

"We're not a couple, by the way," Judy clarifies quickly.

"Mhm," she mutters. There was a bouquet on their table at the diner. She highly doubts it was for Sam.

Her sudden change in tone was just as odd as the rest of her. Before they could say anything, she was out of the hallway into the room on their left. It was completely dark inside but Nick could see clearly what was hidden. She would mirror his gasp the minute the lights were turned on.

Lining the dark blue walls was an array of guns mounted on them. Rifles and shotguns, various pistols and SMGs, even an LMG and a rusted old musket. Some of them were custom-made for animals much larger or much smaller than she was. It was clearly a gun collection, but they'd be forgiven for first looking at it like an armory.

She approaches them as they entered the room slowly, the hefty Browning BLR in her hands. They were so preoccupied with the sight of the room that looked like all kinds of illegal that they didn't notice her pull the gun out from the wall. "I'm assuming you're here for this?" She hands it to Nick, who heaves it steadily in his hands. "Or maybe you'd like to see my prized Mare's Leg."

"Your what?" Nick asks.

She pulls out a short lever-action rifle, off the wall beside them. She flips it a few times off the loading lever, clearly entertained by how easily she handles it… something that worries them.

"They both chamber 308s but they're the only ones I have that do."

Judy quirks a curious brow at the suddenly tame wolf. "How do you know we're here looking for this?"

"My first order in months with Buckshot was this gun. Since you two were at the crime scene, which I heard was shot up, I can only assume you two are looking for a gun that chambers the only round that the Browning can: a 308." She plops down on the single sofa in a soft cushiony crunch as she expertly slides the Mare's Leg onto the dark mahogany table in a light toss that doesn't damage it. "And before you ask about how I know about the crime scene, know that most of the deputies in town are fresh, young, and stupid. They can't keep their mouths shut."

"You're rather intuitive." Judy comments, as Nick and her sit on the wider sofa adjacent to her after putting the Browning next to the Mare's Leg.

"Thanks, Cutie. It comes with the package."

"Please, just Judy is fine. Cute isn't a term most bunnies appreciate being called when it isn't from another bunny."

"Doesn't Fox Boy over here ever call you that?" Nick winces at the nickname.

"Well, yeah," she gestures, trying to find ways to make it sound convincing, "but we've known each other for a while now."

"That means that you're familiar with each other to the point of turning a term that equates to a racial stereotype from another species into something endearing which you'd find only in someone close to you?"

Nick blinks. When Liandra's mouth runs with her logic, she leaves him wondering just what kind of person she is.

"Yes, that's exactly it," Judy answers moments later.

"And… you two aren't a couple?" She points between them.

"No," they plainly say at the same time.

"Huh, coulda fooled me." Their response was irksome. There was no emotion or embarrassment. They were so casual about it that it made her… confused. _Just what kind of relationship do you have to have to be like them?_

"Can we confirm that you aren't hiding any other weapon in the house?" Nick asks as Judy juts down some notes.

"The station and all its hands are welcome to search but I'm sure you won't find anything." She is certain that there's nothing they'll find. No one could even plant false evidence in her house either. She manages the house herself, designed the security herself, no one else in town has access to this place but her. The only reason these two didn't set off any alarms is because she disabled them from the hallway toward the living room. Her automated systems are highly specific, highly precise, and still constantly monitored whilst ignoring her completely. She eyes the camera at the corner of the room, hidden behind a false ventilation shaft.

Her quick glance is noticed by Nick, but he doesn't pay it mind, much to her relief. But Nick had already seen the camera, just as Judy has. They figured the head of security would have such a system in her own home, especially one in such a modernized neighborhood.

Nick leans towards the table, running a hand over the Browning BLR. "This gun has never been used. If we tested it for residue, I'm sure we'll come up empty. Same goes for the other."

"Plus it was raining on the night of the attack," Judy comments. "The gun had to have been dirty to some degree, and cleaning a gun doesn't make it look _this_ new."

"Does that mean I'm off the hook?"

"Well, not necessarily," Judy says apologetically. "Just because this weapon didn't fire it doesn't excuse you entirely."

"Given all that we know, everyone is a potential suspect," Nick adds.

Liandra sighs, a little dissatisfied but otherwise manages the ghost of a smile anyway. The smile drops moments later. She slaps the arm rests of her chair as she lifts herself off it, turning in the way to the kitchen. "You two want any wine?"

"It's three PM," Judy states flatly.

"Suit yourselves." She saunters out of the room.

Minutes later she enters with a fat wine bottle, three glasses, and some cork coasters. She swiftly places them on the table around the firearms before picking up the guns. "It's grape juice, don't worry. The locals bottle it this way so the high school kids buy 'em. Makes them feel like adults, as I understand it."

She walks over the walls, placing the Mare's Leg on its low lying perch.

"You don't seem like you're from around here, An," Nick asks after drinking from the cold glass of grape.

"That's cause I'm Zootopian, born and raised," she announces proudly.

"Really?" Nick was more surprised than Judy, and with good reason. "I know just about everybody from Zootopia. I've been living there for years. How is it that I don't know who _you_ are?"

"Maybe because I was a bouncer? I didn't really stand out those days. We may have even seen each other, just passed each other off as _just another customer_ and _just another bouncer._ "

"Maybe?" He rolls the now empty glass in his hand. "Where did you work at?"

"Iced. I don't know if it's changed names." She settles the Browning back into place, gently as if it was immaculate. She pats it proudly, reveling in her collection.

Nick remembered the place but knew very well that he didn't frequent it.

Judy's phone rings. Despite herself, she doesn't leave the room out of courtesy like she usually would, answering it immediately and sat there, urgency winning her over. "Hey, Liz... Are you sure?… Don't worry about it. You did good… Yeah, I'll see you at the station… Bye."

"This about Green?" Nick asks.

"Yeah. He checks out. Eye sight's too poor for a rifle. He bought the rounds for a weird decorative gator he was building out of metal."

"Why _live_ rounds?" Nick feels fear and something else for the man. Respect perhaps, for something so bold and utterly thoughtless, but his tone hitches on the concern that is expected of a man of uniform, something he's still not sure is maybe even slightly an act.

"Cause he's old and wants to do something stupid and crazy to feel young again," Liandra answers for them. They share a look with her as she plops back into her seat. She takes a contemplative sip of her grape juice, licking her lips in a completely non-suggestive manner. "I know the guy. We've met a few times. He's done _plenty_ worse, and he's survived each stunt without a scratch. I swear the guy's invincible or something." The way she says it makes them think she really believes that. Nick half expects a joke or something, anything to discredit it but she looks at them with an expression more normal than he's used to from her.

"What? It's true! He put on some of that body armor and had himself rammed by his own truck! Geezer fell over but he stood up like it was nothing!"

"You sure the truck wasn't just moving slowly?"

"Hell no, _I_ was the one driving!" Perhaps the memory would have been more pleasant with familiar company. It shows with the way she smiles, glances at them from her drink, then drowns the smile in grape juice like it was wine.

When she looks at the Hunting Club she sees old men and women of all ranges trying desperately to capture youth with crazy stunts and stupid ideas. They manage to prove that youth isn't a requirement for wild and crazy fun, aptly showing her sights and experiences that would make even a thrill seeker like her feel outmatched. But those are memories she shares with _them,_ conjuring those places and sights and smells in their presence alone.

But when she looks at Nick and Judy, she sees a pair of young detectives who, just like her, are trying to save a town from a monster that plagues it. They are proof that the woes of the old, those hardships and pains, are not reserved for them alone. Even the young will feel the weight of the world and they too will know the sufferings of withered bones, tried instead by storms rather than age.

Memories off of them are less pleasant because they remind her of Calvary. Those memories taste of sulfur and whiskey, not autumn and mirth. Entirely unpleasant but still necessary to someone, somewhere, for something.

"You know, when Calvary told me about what happened here, I was scarce to believe him. And now that I'm here when it's all… _happening_ again I… I can't help but feel for him. "

Judy softens as she sees the pained look on her face. Empathic and kind, she reaches over a gentle hand over hers on the arm rest. An meets her sympathy with a look of pleasant surprise. Then her eyes avert, staring into the grape juice as if her thoughts are caught there.

"Calvary had only a few friends here in Bronc Town before he was mayor," she continues. "Two or three of them, I think. They all disappeared."

Nick, meanwhile, was less surprised that she was suddenly somber. He noticed how differently she acted when she saw them alone. The flirting here, Judy would say, just looked like a defense mechanism to hide something else.

Then Nick's thoughts fell on Calvary, a stoic figure who was, however, not as muscular as most lions, but was certainly an imposing figurehead nonetheless. His stride, his aura, the way he spoke and the way he looked all amounted to a man worthy of political standing, because he was certainly a man who **stood out.** And with someone like that… Nick had never thought of it before but maybe An felt safe around him. "I'll be honest, An, Calvary doesn't seem like the sort to be bothered by much."

"Oh, he normally isn't. Even when he was a crazy drunk hardly anything bothered him. He got mad at everyone back then but it was mostly an act, trying to piss everyone off just for the hell of it. They'd fling insults at him and call him a dumb drunk but those days, I swear, he seemed more sober when he was _on_ booze rather than off it. Without alcohol he was… docile, like a marionette, like he wasn't alive. But when he was on the drink he was… _vivid._ " Her heart seems to sink but it actually doesn't. What looked like a gloom morphed instantly to some quiet joy, spreading a generous blush through her cheeks and ears. "Nowadays he's vivid _all_ the time. Like you could feel him radiate off on you. You never feel like you have to hide anything around him. Maybe he'll tell me to calm down or behave myself but when we're alone he lets me do what I want. He won't judge me."

The pair inches closer, as far out of the sofa and close to her as they can. Nick more out of curiosity than anything else, whilst Judy was camped in concern. "Is this why you seem so different all of a sudden?" Nick asked.

"I… kinda… It's not like I can't feel secure when I'm alone. It's mostly just… Well, I'm trying not to fuck up. I have a loud mouth, if you couldn't tell, and I tend to say stupid things that get me into trouble. If I say anything that even _remotely_ incriminates me and gets me arrested or puts me on anymore suspicion, I'll let Calvary down."

Judy sat up then, more than a worried for her now because it was clear that the strain of what she had been feeling was weighing down on her. "Let him down how? What does he want from you?"

She fiddles with her glass, tracing the rim of the empty cup with her free hand. "Just that I stay where I need to be, when I need to be. Not wasting resources that could be better put to finding the _actual_ killer. To help him and the town whenever he needs me to. I can't do any of that behind bars, really. And even if it isn't about this case, I'll somehow manage to get into jail if I don't keep myself in check. He can't have that of me now of all times."

"You must really love this town, huh?" Judy intentionally strayed from talking about Calvary.

"Ha, no." It was a weak laugh, passing through her like a projection, unreal and wasn't fooling anyone. "This town's quiet. Too quiet, really. I used to work as a bouncer, which was more exciting than most anything I end up doing here. I used to stop a fight every night I was on the job, even have the scars to prove it but…here? It's a crimeless town where nothing happens. Well, not until recently."

Nick caught something then, a thought adrift in the way she framed her words because it felt like an unfulfilling job. He could have sworn he already knew the answer, but he asked anyway. "What made you want to come here then?"

"I owed Calvary a favor." _Of course she did._ "We were friends before he got fucked up on alcohol. I was at a low point in my life when he called me up, telling me he's running for mayor and he'd like someone he can trust to back him up. Now here I am, bodyguard and head of security to the most influential local official in town, with more money than I **ever** earned as a bouncer, and a house all to myself instead of some shitty dormitory in a freezing hellhole."

Judy could hear it in her tone, and she could tell that Nick noticed it too. "It still doesn't sound like you're satisfied with your lifestyle."

"Don't get me wrong, it's a decent job and a great life but everyone here's so… _domestic._ To be honest, I'm not sure my life was ever meant to be like theirs. People here like me enough but they're too... _small._ I need more excitement in my life, get the blood pumping, you know? Now I'm not saying I like that there's kidnappings, I'm not **that** fucked up, but I'll be damned if I didn't say I kinda liked the idea of this quiet little town not being so... quiet. I honestly would've been fine with a little controversy here and there, maybe a little tension with Pride and his old rival, Reager, but no." She waves her hands exasperatedly, stretching out the last word. "Those two are having a late brunch **right. now.** Like there was never even a problem between them to begin with! And I can attest to that, they are, _in fact,_ friends now." She quickly punctuates by showing them a photo on her phone of the two golfing.

"Now don't get the wrong idea." She gestures, trying to convince them to be rid of any doubts. "Even if I don't _love_ this place, I still respect it. This town has no love of hate or sadness. And they sat through the kidnappings like they were made of _steel._ People here are resilient, I tell ya. If they wanna stay happy, they _stay_ happy. Even if one of them is a serial killer. And they'll grin ear to ear till it hurts just to prove it."

Liandra is twiddling her thumbs now, hands to herself and away from Judy's comfort. She dejects to herself now, ready to face the steady and uncomfortable strain in her heart. "Calvary knows it's hurting them. The idea that any one of them could be the killer makes it hard for everyone to fully trust each other again. He's trying his hardest to make sure the town goes back to the way it was but… "

She meanders off the edge of her speech, trying to gun for an easy transition but damns it all and decides to be direct. "Look, the reason why I'm telling you this now is because I want you to know that Calvary isn't your guy. Your tiger friend may have her suspicions but he is everything _good_ about this town. And that hotshot of yours has got the wrong idea gunning for him."

Judy is unapologetic but tries to speak softly nonetheless. "An, I'm sorry, but we can't excuse anyone out of presumptions alone. Anyone at this point is a suspect even-"

"Me?" An interrupts. It wasn't what Judy intended to say but she didn't bother finding out. "I get it. I'm a suspect. Big whoop. If you guys are half as good as the news says you are, you'll find out that it wasn't me in no time and then I can go back to helping out instead of being looked at like a potential criminal." She crosses her arms, no anger or frustration billowing off her like her accusation implied. She was just sad, feeling like she'd failed Calvary terribly and made herself look suspicious.

But she hasn't. If anything, she'd moved them. And whilst Judy was busy trying to be comforting, Nick was trying to be clever.

"Well _I_ don't really like being looked at like a _piece of meat,_ " Nick remarks irritably, fishing for that smile of hers that he hopes she tries to find.

And she does, beaming at the opportunity he's giving her, pointing him with a sultry gaze. "Too bad, Handsome. I'll wear you down till you let me jump those bones. And I promise I won't disappoint you." Suddenly he regrets trying to be nice to her.

But she's laughing now, especially with the look on Judy's face who is mortified at Nick making such an easily abused comment. It's enough to lighten the air, enough to pour another round of grape juice, enough to ease the tension they didn't know they all had after everything today.

An hour passes and it's around four-thirty PM.

In the midst of mirth and non-alcoholic drink they manage to ask a few more questions. An alibi for the day of the second kidnapping checks out. Calvary's word and a few shopping list receipts could confirm that she was out of town for the day to get a few things for the mayor's office. She also appears too busy for anything other than her job.

By the end of it all, Nick and Judy have nowhere else to go today but their hotel. The Graze Hotel, An explains, is the best hotel in town. Even if it is the _only_ one, it is also four-stars by interstate review. What it lacks is a pent house, and further luxuries but it is a fine place to stay. She admits to being envious of them for that, and resolves to rent a room there when she's feeling too tense, which is almost a certainty at this point.

After a snide comment about the two sharing a room together, An stops them before they get into their car. "So… there's a party tonight. Anniversary for the town's founding. I know it's weird that a few days ago was the anniversary of the kidnappings but whatever. This is what's happening tonight and Calvary would like it if you two came."

Nick shrugs. "I could go for a party."

"We'd love to go," Judy says.

"Great! It's not a formal event but try to wear something sexy. Something with a tie, maybe, if you're up for that."

Nick smirks at Judy who still thinks his tie is ugly. He talks about how sexy he'd look in it. She admits that it _does_ suit him in a kinda-sorta ugly-sexy sort of way. He takes it as a compliment and asks if she thinks he can make the tie work with his current outfit. She chortles and admits that, in all honesty, he can make any look work with a tie. Then she slaps him for suggesting that, in that case, his tie would be the _only_ thing he wears.


	6. Citizens and Victims (pt. 3)

The Graze Hotel was a wide and magnanimous place. Most large hotels gunned for height rather than width but Bronc Town was home to beautiful vistas and lush forestry with valleys beyond them that stretched into the distance and no building taller than four or five stories was allowed to obstruct that view. So instead of standing taller than anything short of a cliffside, it spread out into a block all on its own. It is the largest building for miles, dwarfing even the city hall.

If nothing else in town was up to modern standards, the hotel certainly was. Glass doors, personal security, valets and bellboys, ambient piano music from a live pianist, and a needlessly expensive restaurant on the side. It was a place of luxury in the lobby alone.

Around them were other patrons who, as it seemed, were out-of-town groups. An indie band, a few businessmen, a vacationing family. For a town out of the way of the road, it certainly had a lot of visitors. _Maybe there's something to this town after all._

Nick slung his duffle bag as it almost rolled off his shoulders. It wasn't that it was heavy, just that he'd been carrying it around for almost twenty minutes behind an oddly specific honey badger who wanted everything in her room to be exactly the way she wanted it because she paid extra and expects only the best. Judy didn't mind waiting in line, she had the smart idea to take a luggage bag with her, wheels and all.

By the time the badger was done, Nick made for the counter, eager to get their keys so he can plop into bed for a few minutes.

But then the badger came back. "And another thing-"

Nick shot her a look and held out a hand for her to shut up. "Do you mind? We're trying to get our room here. It's been a long day and we'd rather not wait any longer than we already have."

She pressed her knuckles to her hips, an incredulous look to her that made it look like he'd just insulted her mother. "Excuse me? Do you have any idea who I am?"

Nick normally would have backed off and not said anything in the first place but this woman had a million and one things to request. She had already held up the line for far longer than anyone else would have. Everyone in the lobby would have gotten a room by the time this spoiled brat was done talking. And now she's going on about how much more important _she_ was?

"I'm sure that whatever you are, _sweetheart,_ " he punctuates sardonically, "it doesn't change a thing. I'm at the head of the line. If you have anything else, wait in the back."

She gasps at his impudence. "Learn your place, _plebian!_ I am Meridith Luvierre Mellivora! Heir to the Wendall fortune and I will not be-"

They roll their eyes and flash their badges.

"And we're cops," Judy states flatly.

Her mouth slams shut, bulging at her plump cheeks, swallowing her words hard. She tries to save face somehow but she comes up with nothing. She settles with a huff and walks away with the remaining dignity she has left.

The desk clerk, a smart looking jackal, had met them with a look of vivid thanks. "I'd offer you the best room on the house but I'm sorry to say that Miss Mellivora already has it. Would you settle for a free dinner at our restaurant instead? All six courses, of course."

Nick looks back at Judy who is just as pleasantly surprised, and in equal parts apologetic. She wants to take them up on the offer, even if not to offend such a kind proposal, but they were having dinner elsewhere. She is clearly embarrassed, unlike Nick who is just as expectant as the jackal for her response.

"I'm sorry," she finally says, "but we're going to City Hall for dinner."

"Not a problem. Another night then, just say the word." The clerk weaves through the pages of his tablet, finding a decent room for them. "We'd still give you the room for free. Perhaps on the third floor with some of the better views? Sunrise peaks beautifully off the manor on the southern end but north sees them over the forest. So which would you like?"

"Actually, the mayor's assistant reserved a room for us. For Wilde and Hopps?"

His ear twitches at recognition, a look of realization tracing his suddenly exposed teeth. "Ah, yes! Officers… Nick Wilde and… Judy Hopps? You're in 314M–" he hands them a set of keys "–by the northern end. It's down the hall in front of the elevator. It's the mayor's personal favorite, though I don't see him using it very much given the circumstances."

Judy and Nick were genuinely surprised. "Why is that?" Judy asked for them.

He rolls his wrist to gesture the list of the mayor's duties. "The Autumn Festival's coming up, then there's this whole week of straight anniversary fares and performances, then he has to deal with ' _Lady Munchies'_ Mellivora through all that and..." he trails off, eyes elsewhere as he buries himself in reasons to pity the mayor. "The man's going all out to distract everyone from the kidnappings and _still_ finds time to deal with out-of-town delegates just to keep spirits and revenue up. We're blessed to have him, but I can't help but feel that he could snap at any minute. Something's going to break that man in two, and when that happens, this town's not gonna have much order to it."

"Ahem," a voice from behind them coughs. There is a little mice family sitting on a platform segway before them. At the controls is what appears to be the father, with lungs that betray his size, loud enough to hear. "Could you maybe carry on that conversation another time? Me and my family have traveled hours to get here and we'd like a room ourselves."

He was polite, which made Nick and Judy sheepish. "Ah, right, sorry."

They scurried along, quickly telling the offering bellboy that they can handle their bags just fine. It had sensitive equipment after all, better in their own hands and no one else's, really.

They take one of the two large elevators and Nick makes a small seedy gulp, face twisting in apprehension, when he realizes that the large space fit for two elephants with some room to spare has no operator. _I guess the hotel is short on staff._ He steps in with the unaware Judy and gives her a quick, "hold onto me and your bag," before hitting the third floor button and clutching one hand onto the elevator grip.

Judy presses her luggage bag against her side, handle under her armpit, as the wide doors slowly close. Nick's free hand pulls her into his side by the waist, almost a little too tight over the curve of her hip. She looks up at him, clearly anxious about something. "Aw, Nick, is something– _w-w-whoa!_ " The elevator lurches upward with more force than she was expecting, sending her an inch into the air as the machine quickly stops. Her stroller lands with a dull thud, slamming painfully against her pit up to her shoulder.

"What..." She twists her aching arm around its socket. "What was that?"

"Most elevators have operators who adjust the speed depending on the weight. We'd have gone up just fine had the settings been dialed to light." He would have adjusted them himself if he knew how. He's scarce to believe that they were needlessly complicated just to confuse everyone.

She leans onto her stroller, uncomfortably tickling her pit as well as pressuring the injured arm. "Why didn't you say anything?" she asks in inquiry rather than in accusation.

"Well we're late for the party and I thought you already knew. You'd been in Zootopia for a while. I'm surprised you hadn't been in one without an operator yet."

She tries to pull her bag forward but her arm tightens painfully. She's usually in tougher shape but this was a cramp coupled with a particularly uncomfortable smack. It didn't seem like she would need to do anything strenuous today so she skipped her morning warm-ups to get to work quickly. Something she would make sure was never allowed to happen again.

Nick quickly grabs her bag for her. "Easy, Carrots. Let me take care of it." He lets her walk ahead of him and he's staring her down as she nurses her arm.

She's looking for the room number but doesn't notice Nick lean down behind her, eying her rather fine flanks. But he's not down there for the show. He angles himself properly then, in one swift motion, slides his head underneath her – making her yelp – then seating her on his shoulders,.

Perched on top of him, she realizes where she's at, and breathes a slow sigh. "Nick, my legs work just fine."

"I know, but we got rid of that bellboy too early. We need to pull down that doorknob so we can unlock it." He brings her over to the room door they'd spotted minutes later. The doorknob is high enough for a lion to use properly but only just low enough for Judy to grab. Around it is a crevasse in the shape of a long truncated circle that dips downward. Judy grabs the doorknob from her perch and unlocks the door before pushing it down to fall onto the lower end of the circle, making it level with them instead.

Flicking the lights on, Nick's eyes immediately fell onto the bed. Kicking the door closed and dropping the bags gently, he ran toward it, Judy bobbing on his shoulders, then tossed himself and her onto it.

She fell onto the pillows in a lush cushioned thump.

"This feels amazing!" he sings, muffled while face first into the sheets.

Judy lays back, respiring from his shenanigans, giggling suddenly as she rests her uninjured arm onto her forehead. "Yeah," she breathes, curling onto the pillow that cradles her. "Makes me wish we didn't have to go so soon."

He pops his head from the sheets leaving a tiny stain from the concealer on his swollen eye. "We're already late. What's another hour or so?"

She wanted to argue but decided to lie back and enjoy the room.

The interior designer certainly had a thing for mood lighting. They lined the hallways and filled the room they were in, save for a few long fluorescent ones that were currently off. It gave their room a sleepy look to it, but Nick wasn't tired enough for bed, and neither was Judy. They couldn't skip the party tonight either. They promised Liandra and, by extension, Mayor Pride who had gotten them that very bed. In the very least, not going was disrespectful.

Judy groans at the thought of leaving but dejects to sit up, eying her bag at the door. "Did you lock the door?"

"Nope. Saw the bed. Didn't care."

She rolls her eyes and makes her way to her luggage. She nudges aside Nick's duffle bag and locks the door. Then she unzips her stroller, pulling out a few choice clothes to sift through and a little towel with a carrot motif. "Are you going to bathe?"

"I smell good enough, Carrots," he responds with remiss, furtively sniffing himself. "I'll just use my cologne if I start to stink."

"You better mean the one I got you. I may have gotten used to your cheap Yaëk cologne but not everyone will." She clutches her things, sifting through other potential cosmetics to use for tonight with her free hand.

No one noticed his cologne all day. If anything, it was an ignorable scent. He wondered why she made such a big deal out of it, but it _was_ a gift after all. He'd almost conceded but then he remembered the brand. "You know Swan is a brand for women, right?"

"It says _Men's_ , Nick."

"Doesn't make it any less fru fru."

"Oh, don't bring her into this."

"I'm not talking about the _person,_ Judes."

She sighs, looking at him from across the room, far too tired to for this back and forth. _If all else fails…_ "Just put on the cologne, Nick. Please? For me?"

He doesn't look at her, he doesn't need to, because he knows she'll just make a face, one that pleads and is soft around her whiskers and gentle like her fur, and he'll give in to her like he always does. But that was the inevitability of their relationship. He can't always say no and she has ways to get him to just give in. "…Fine, I'll do it. but you'll reapply the makeup on my eye tomorrow, right?"

She ambles towards him, finally meeting his gaze. Some of the makeup has smeared but only barely. "Can't have you walking around with a blemish, Nick. Don't worry, I've got you covered, but I'm sure it'll heal by then. It isn't serious and I think the swelling's already going down."

She saunters over to the door, subconsciously swaying her hips suggestively. He watches her, barely realizing that he was staring at her tail till he tried to look away but couldn't. "Be sure to be changed by the time I get out," she says before leaving his line of sight.

She doesn't lock the door, or even closes it. They had come to an unspoken understanding of bathroom rules between them since she started living in his apartment. Sometimes he needs to use his bathroom to freshen up or brush his teeth, and the fact that she's bathing behind curtains is enough to let him come in when he needs to. She only really locks it if she needs to change.

"You know," she calls from the shower, "I realize that there's only one bed."

Nick sits up, looking around and realizes that, yes, there is no other bed here. "It makes sense, doesn't it? Liandra _did_ think we were a couple."

"What's with everybody thinking we're a couple?"

Nick crawls up toward the bed and eyes the chocolate resting on one of the pillows. "I don't know, but who cares? There's complementary chocolate!" He quickly gorges it but realizes that the other one is missing.

"Really? Save me one!"

He scans the bed for the other piece. It must've moved when Judy fell on that pillow. It doesn't take him long to find it, nestled in between the two larger pillows but he also feels the distinctly rougher texture underneath it.

He pulls out the chocolate with an enclosed letter beneath it. At its back is the word "Calvary" written tastefully on it. "Found a letter."

"You did? Who's it from?"

"No idea but it's addressed to Calvary." He flips it over again, trying to look for clues.

"We'll hand it to him later then. We're seeing him anyway."

He leaves it at the edge of the bed then makes his way to his duffle bag. He pulls out a red square tie and inspects it. It isn't his usual one but tonight was apparently a special occasion.

Though as much as Nick was actually starting to like Liandra, he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of a tie she could tug. Only Judy was allowed to do that. So he drops the tie and pulls out a white dress shirt and black-rimmed-white vest. He unbuttons his dress shirt till it aligns with the vest itself so his chest tuft pops out. A belt and dark jeans completes the look.

"I think Sam thinks we're a couple too," she says as he's pulling up his pants.

"She _did_ mention something like that when we first met."

"Yeah, _why_ didn't we correct her, again?"

"I was just surprised she even showed up. I know Bogo said she would but I guess I still hardly believed it myself even when I saw her." He pauses for a moment, making one final tug so his jeans sit comfortably. "What about you? Why didn't _you_ correct her?" The question comes out casually, barely a thought in it as it passes his lips.

"I was far more preoccupied with being physically in front of my role model to wonder about a passing comment." Which is no longer true, if Nick could read her as well as he thought he did.

"We should just clarify it with everybody at the party," he suggests.

"Sounds like a plan," she says as he hears the shower stop.

He doesn't know why but he glances at the slightly ajar door and sees inside. He sighs in relief when he realizes that the mirror isn't visible, and even if it was, he was doubtful that it would refract to Judy. His thoughts then drift, carrying him to other more pressing things. "So how are we doing the sleeping? We could take shifts on the bed if you'd like. I can take the sofa tonight."

"Oh, jeez, Nick," she laughs, "it's a big bed. Bigger than anything either of us has slept on. There's room enough for both of us. Besides, I don't mind sleeping with you." He chuckles at the unintentional innuendo. She still had no idea what she just suggested at the end there but he knew it was completely innocent.

But if asked if he, Nicholas P. Wilde, would seriously _sleep_ with Judy Hopps, his answer would be an immediate and resounding _'yes.'_ Because she was a beautiful woman and saying that she wasn't just felt… incorrect. Not just insulting, but also false. As if saying she wasn't somehow incredibly gorgeous was an affront to beauty and proper eyesight in general. You simply had to be either blind or stupid not to see it. And if given the chance to bed her, feel her skin across his as their fur mixed in heated passion, molding together as he cradled a gentle and lovely beauty, why on earth would he ever pass that up?

But if asked if he loved her? Really, truly _loved_ her, like his parents once did with each other, he… he honestly would not know what to say. What had otherwise felt like a lifetime of temporary relationships made the young fox lack sympathy when he started doing cons. He looked out for himself and everyone he came across was either a temporary face he'd scam or a partner in crime he'd later replace. Friendships themselves were fickle things, coming and going like the seasons. Somewhere down the road, the meaning of the word itself lost value until he met Judy. After all that, the idea of a romantic relationship to him just felt foreign, as if it wasn't even part of his vocabulary. Simply having a friend close enough to call a best friend was a feat; anything more than that had to have been utterly remarkable. In the end it just hadn't crossed his mind, categorized as one of those off-shoot fantasies you see in movies.

Then she emerges, skipping into the room in a sleeveless ruffled blouse with a cherry red knee-level skirt and he is enraptured by her. Heart stopping at the sight but steeling himself seconds later. Her slender arms and legs, toned by tight muscle, accented by a slim waist and curved by small yet prominent breasts, she is a picture of perfection in his mind, rivaled by a beautiful mother and no one else. There is a scent to her too, lime with the hefty smell of fresh countryside that turns it into a fruity mint valley, tickling his snout with sensations his heart wishes to enunciate but doesn't.

"How do I look?" she asks innocently, clearly anticipating a compliment. Normally he'd enjoy a bit of banter by teasing her but doing that now felt… inappropriate. As if calling her anything but utterly stunning would be treacherous, to her and the world, to himself and animalkind.

So he takes her hand instead, much to her confusion, then twirls her in a swift motion as she gracefully spins for him. He stops her, pressing a palm to her back so he can look her up and down while she sustains that bewildered look to her. "Beautiful," he says softly, lazy eyes telling her that they were the truth and nothing less.

She didn't blush, only giggled.

One hand joins the other, pressed to the sides of her waist, then he takes a tentative and tiny step back, looking himself down then looks to her. "What about me?" he asks, expecting a similar compliment, brimming confidence as he puffs out his chest and shoots her his signature smirk.

She studies him, just as enamored by the sight of him as he is with her. Of course he had used the cologne she gave him, he wasn't one to go back on his word; well, at least with her. He smelt of winter, huddled by the fire, pressed again soft sheets under the cool evening moon. His tight muscles wrapped around rolled up sleeves, bulging off his strong lean shoulders, a chest tuft that teased at the strong visage underneath, a roguish charm emanating from his toothy grin. To her he is an Adonis in days that had long forgotten what that meant, whose strength did not rely on size or stature alone but presence and poise. A shiver runs down her spine when his callous yet gentle fingers nearly grazes her tail, feeling his firm grip hold her in ways that most of her kind would fear where only she would find comfort in.

She tugs at the folds of his dress shirt where she could have just pulled his tie and breathes an airy, "handsome."

He breathes a sigh of relief, clearly having held a breath there. She laughs at him and he retaliates with a bear hug and spin that sends him into a laughing fit along with her.

They fall in bed together, her laying atop his side. She leans on an arm by him, looking up and down the sly fox.

If asked if Judy would bed with him… she would first ask what you meant. Then she would tell you that he probably couldn't handle her but it would probably be fun to try anyway. Not to say that he wasn't capable – of that she had no doubt – but she was a bunny and their sexual drive when in heat would make any other species blush, and she wasn't sure if he, or anyone else for that matter, was capable of handling her.

Modern innuendos aside, she was no stranger to sex. With such a large family it was hard _not_ to know about the birds and bees. It wasn't as if he wasn't appealing either. He was certainly her type, that is, if she even had one. But she had yet to experience a sexual awakening of any kind, and she'd always hit the pills to hold off being in heat, punctual as always, striking before it came like her mother had taught her to. Sex was just something she never thoroughly thought about, but if she had to have it with anyone, it would be with him.

But if asked if she loved him? Like how her parents love each other? She would immediately ask if Nick thought she didn't and if that's why you were asking. Because love to her meant a million and one things and she was more than certain that Nick meant one or more of them. He was her solace and confidant, her partner and friend, family and a thousand more voids that he managed to fill while she was alone in the city. Endeavoring to clarify just what _kind_ of love you meant would change nothing, because she was only certain that she loved him, and knowing just _how much_ she loved him was irrelevant.

Even when he slings her in an arm as they get up to leave and he kisses her on the head, eliciting the tiniest of giggles from her, she feels no more for him than he does her, blissfully unaware of how they appear to everyone else most of the time. It is the tragedy of a romance where they are blinded by the comfort of what they are from what they could have been.

And as they leave the hotel, arms still clung to each other, they find their car and notice the bouquet still sitting in the back. Judy picks it up, wondering if the mayor had a vase or something they could put it in to keep it alive.

* * *

Entering the ballroom, they did not expect the attention they got. The mile long stares and the particularly suggestive brow wave of Liandra didn't help alleviate their sudden embarrassment. Even the soft piano music seemed to dim for a moment. Though, in hindsight, carrying the bouquet while arm-in-arm was probably a bad idea when they were trying to get everyone to stop thinking they were a couple. Now half the town will start thinking it and nothing short of a public statement could fix that.

"Hey there," came the soft greeting from a seventeen-year-old otter. They looked down to see her, dawned in a purple dress, and the long off-colored fur on her head tied in a conservative bun. "You two must be Nick and Judy. I've heard a _ton_ about you two."

They looked at each other, surprised by the sweet little stranger. Judy smiled pleasantly. "I'm guessing you're Liz's sister?"

"Oh? Liz? Oh, no. We're friends but I'm no Waterdale. I'm a Rivers. Kayla Rivers," she holds out a hand, "nice ta' meet ya." Hers is an air of innocence so delicate that it almost pains Nick to shake her hand after Judy, fearful he'll harm her somehow or if the sight of his teeth behind his toothy grin would scare her, but she looks up at the bigger animals with a hint of the universe and its infinite possibilities in her eyes and feels no fear, brimming with a confidence that rivals his own, even if the gentle grip of her tiny hands felt paper thin and just as frail.

Calvary is quickly behind her in the next moment. "She's also the town darlin'," he says as he leans down beside her, "the most important little woman in town."

"Pff! To you, maybe," she scoffs playfully. "Hey, Cal," she jumps up to hug him before being swiftly caught by the lion, "where have you been all day?"

"Was organizin' the Autumn Festival. Need ta' make everythin' just the right amount of perfect for your class's performance next week." His was a proud smile, brighter and happier than they've seen him before, and it pleasantly surprised them. He has the weight of the town on his shoulders, juggling special events and assisting in a major investigation, with tensions with a particular bengal tiger that you could cut with a knife, and suddenly the stress melts away at the sight of this little teenager.

"Oh, you remembered!" She hugged his comparatively wider neck.

"Course I did, darlin'. There's nuthin' I forget when it comes to you." He regards the other two present, smiling with a half-lidded gaze. "I'm glad to see ya'll made it. I'll be honest, I wasn't too sure you two would come. Especially by invitation via An."

"We got to know her better," Judy states.

"Plus it sounded fun," Nick adds, "so while we're still here, we figured we'd try to enjoy ourselves." He shrugs as if he needed any more reason than that.

"Well, I'd say it was an excellent decision. _Capital,_ as Creed would say. Speakin' o' which, c'mon, I believe it's time you met the Sheriff officially this time 'round." He motions for them to follow as they made their way through the crowds. "Heard ya'll barely spoke this mornin', thought I'd remedy that."

"That's very kind of you, Mayor Pride, but we _were_ going to formally meet him tomorrow."

"Like I said this mornin', ya'll can just call me Calvary. That aside, Creed's been meanin' to really meet ya'll himself. 'Fraid the old bear's a little impatient." He wants to break the wall of formality Judy is forgetting to let go, and his gentle smile is every telling that he finds her mannerisms endearing if a little ironclad. She is very set in her ways when it comes to respecting kind authority figures, which is respectable, but Calvary can't help but feel that she's forgotten to relax. Something Nick notices himself.

Kayla peeks from over his shoulder, popping out of his mane like a meerkat out of its hole. "Neither of these old goofs are big on formality –eep!" Calvary pokes her tiny back, tickling her. She bats his hand away as he mutters something about not being old.

"Really? So what _is_ he big on?"

She ponders from her perch, pinching her chin. "Me, mostly. Sometimes An." She rolls her hand, trying to recall any more. "S'about it, really." She shrugs, pauses then raises a hand in an epiphany. "Ooh! _The town,_ he loves the town."

Calvary shoots her a glare. "I'm _mayor,_ how is that _not_ the first thing that comes to mind?"

"Kinda hard to tell when you're gushing about my singing and not absolutely _fawning_ over those dry old town meetings."

He deadpans. "I reserve no enthusiasm 'bout makin' either pecan or apple the official town pie."

"Official town pies?" Nick asks. "That's not really a thing is it?"

"It's a small town," Kayla responds, "there's a class war on just about anything if the rich aren't that much richer and the poorest man in town was this bozo." She pats Calvary on his back.

"Then this little angel pulled me out of the gutter and put me on top."

"You did?" Judy spied the little otter as she blushed then shrunk.

"Oh, Cal, please don't…" she begs, hiding between his shoulder and mane.

"She doesn't it like when I boast about her, makes her beat red for longer than it's appropriate." He takes her off his shoulder and sets her down. "Go on now, I'll talk to ya' later when your folks show up."

She nods timidly, quickly pecking him on the cheek. "Be good, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She looks between Nick and Judy and apologies. "Sorry I'm cutting this short. I swear if Cal shows me off one more time I'll be peach red by the end of the night." It was then that they noticed that the red in her cheeks still hadn't died down.

"Are you… still _blushing?_ " Nick comments.

"Yeah, I don't know why. It's a thing I do. I can't help it." She quickly pats her own cheeks. "Real sorry. Maybe I'll see you two later."

"Oh, don't worry about it," Judy offers, "there's still plenty of time to get to know each other."

"I'll hold you to that, Officer Hopps," she confidently remarks before looking at Nick then back at her, then the bouquet, then back at them. "You know," she says while still cupping her still reddened face, "you two make a cute couple."

Judy was quick to respond. "Oh, we're not-"

"Oh, I know," she interrupts as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "but you would."

She bids them goodbye and scurries along toward another group of mammals who are enthused to see her. Nick tilts as he watches the little thing seem to glow amidst the crowd, standing out like a beacon. She is joyous, and bright, and _present,_ as if the room was made to house the sheer magnitude of her radiance while everyone else was made to be a backdrop.

"Sweet little thing was only eight when she found me in the park at the bottom of a bottle." Calvary says suddenly, eyes looking away from everyone and everything. "Then the cheeky little thing slapped it away. Most folk were afraid o' me, spinnin' stories about how I was a serial killer cause I was the only one who hated the town. I woulda ran with it too, just ta' make folk uncomfortable cause that was just the kind o' man I was. But then she did that and… I was so shocked I couldn't get myself to say anything. Then I just listened to her talk and talk, lecturin' me about my drinkin' problem and… told me I could do better."

He is lost elsewhere, flush in the sights and sounds of yesteryear, where her giggles and harangue were childish yet wise beyond her years. He reveled in the memories as if they played out in front of him. And his eyes do not meet with anyone else's, adrift in reminisce. "I didn't think much of it after that, but then she came back the next day and did the same thing. Then the next, and the next, and the next day until…"

He trails off but he stops at a slightly bitter laugh. "After one too many lectures from a little girl I thought knew nuthin' about the real world, I just… _snapped._ I screamed at her and yelled, and kept tellin' her to leave me alone… but she didn't. She stood 'er ground, didn't flinch, didn't cry and…" A pleasant laugh escapes him this time, heart swelling as he heaves a jovial sigh. His visage is suddenly fuzzy and warm, smiling gently and perhaps a little timid all of a sudden. "Then she hugged me. Held me close and told me it'll all be alright. After that it was the first time I'd talk to my ma in years. Now she gets a call every week from her only son who managed to contact her in time to pay for a crucial surgery. She's still alive now cause o' her. Kayla's saved her life and mine."

Calvary's esteemed presence is suddenly dwarfed by Kayla. They look back to her as she sways with a crowd of people who have huddled together to dance as one, her leading it as they step at her rhythm. Even when larger and more beautiful individuals join them, she is still the one that shines brightest, that smile and that laugh outclassing them all with youth mixed with wisdom that made her young and old all at the same time. It is clear that she is the life of the room, of the party, and of the town. Calvary is set to summarize her, "that girl's a gem, pride o' the town. If ya ain't comin' back for the scenery, or the baked goods, ne'er the hotel, nor the hospitality, I know for a fact you'll come back just to see her. Get to know her and you'll find that bein' 'round her makes you forget the monster that haunts this town. And that, more than anythin' else right now, is what keeps this town runnin'."

It is obvious to Nick and Judy both that Kayla is the center of his life. Calvary looked at her like a daughter who is too good for him to have, a prized bird too good for one man to admire alone, someone whose joy needed to be felt by the world and anything less would not do her justice.

"She once said ta' me, that I could be anythin' I wanted if I put my mind to it…" he fixes the pink plastic rose over his breast pocket, admiring the tiny keepsake, "…even mayor."

Nick and Judy honestly wanted to believe that she was just as perfect as everyone made her out to be but they didn't. They could see it in the way her cheeks seem to burn from smiling too hard and the way she finds excuses to shift between groups just to give herself time to relax. Judy could tell she was more stressed than she let on, if the slight tension and over enthusiasm wasn't any more evident. And Nick? He'd seen it before, done it before, placating a room where there should have otherwise been bedlam.

"She knows it too," Calvary says, pulling them out of their stupor. "She ain't blind to the effect she has on people. Me and her, we work our hardest to keep this town on level, keep it from tearin' itself apart. But I'm a grown man with years to toughen out. She's just a girl with more responsibilities than she should have."

He looks at them and hopes they understand. And they do. Calvary is all that he is because of her, and what he passes to them is a silent plea in that regard, for a girl that means the world to him. Because this town is something she would sacrifice her all for, but there is a disease that infects their home and it's hurting her and him both. Nick and Judy were asked to put a stop to it, and what he said this morning echoes back to them: _I need this town to feel like home again._ And now the words carry much more heft, because he meant it for everyone in town, and the pair would be lying if they say they didn't feel a little pressured.

When the music stops to switch out for another one, they realize that they had stopped walking. Calvary sighs, a little embarrassed that he'd been doing all the talking. "Enough o' that serious talk. We're here to celebrate."

Judy feels a chill trace her bare arms, as if she is passing through an invisible veil into winter. The cold is immediate and uncomfortable, so she shakes, clinging to the bouquet to feebly find some warmth in it.

"Oop!" she utters as Nick's tail once again encompasses her, chasing away the cold, wrapping her in his warmth.

"Cold, Carrots?" his smirk is more pleasant than cheeky, evidently struck by Calvary's spiel.

"You see, this is why everyone thinks we're dating." She hides underneath the bulk of his tail, leaning into his side. "But yes – thank you."

Calvary's knowing look does not elude them, but even as Nick wants to correct it, Judy is first to act. "Calvary, do you think you have a vase we can put this in?"

"I can do you one better. I've got floral foam in the storeroom." He takes the bouquet instead and promises to deliver it back to their hotel room.

Judy doesn't know why she still keeps it. It was with her as a joke but she couldn't help but cherish the gift nonetheless. Nick certainly didn't complain, somehow delighting in her reverence of it.

Calvary ushers them to a wide table away from most of the dancing crowd to meet with the sheriff himself, Denzel Creed, who greets them in earnest. "Ha! If it isn't Zootopia's own rising stars." He raises an unsteady full wine glass to toast, clearly inebriated. "A toast to your most illustrious presence!" He sips then nearly chokes as his eyes widened at the tiger beside him. "And Samsara, of course! Can't forget her now, can't we?" He pats the said tiger on the back with a hardy laugh that echoes his powerful lungs.

They sit on the same chair across from him.

He is surrounded by familiar company. Deputy Terence Kaenid is quick to greet them with an awkward wave and Sam simply has an air of pleasantry about her as she nods to them. For some reason, neither Judy nor Nick sense any kind of hostility from her. Which is strange since she is only slightly blushing from the alcohol with her senses still notably steady.

"I swear I've heard more about your exploits through my buzzing deputies than anything else," the very drunk polar bear continues. "First they wouldn't shut up about Gazelle's cousin being in town and then you two show up on the news and suddenly there's nothing else they'd talk about. We haven't formally met, but I'll honestly say I thought I'd be sick of hearing about you."

Calvary chuckles, lazily leaning against one of the chairs. "I'm mighty sorry, I had hoped he'd have held his drink a little better."

The pair shrugs it off. Judy offering that it's not the first time she'd had to deal with a lumbering drunk when they were supposed to have a normal talk. Nick pretends to be offended before recounting his own tale of finding her incredibly drunk after a particularly heavy case. Sam is quick to respond with stories of her own, spilling juicy secrets of her partner Bogo, coughing and changing the topic when she realizes that she was almost about to tell them about the time they got drunk out of their minds and slept together. Terence, after some coaxing, adds his own stories about Reeder, his partner Suther Reese, and himself. But as Creed laughs so hard at them till it almost hurts, Terence quickly segways into a story about Creed getting drunk and waking up on the roof of Terence's own car, which momentarily shuts the sheriff up before erupting in a fit of laughter that they're afraid caught the attention of the room. Then they realize that the room is filled with other noises and general merriment that their own conversation is carried in the cacophony of sounds.

It takes them a moment to realize that Mayor Pride had long since left them. They were about to ignore it until Sam comments about them needing to speak with him later on because he has something for them. They don't ask why she of all people is relaying the message.

Nick, unwilling to be pressured into a few drinks for the sake of staying sober for as long as he was away from home, opts to go find him and join them later.

He searches the room for barely a minute until he hears a strong and heavy laugh that rivaled even Creed's. "I'll eat anything! Peach, pecan, apple! Not a pie in town I won't eat!"

He quickly finds the large fifty-something pig surrounded by similarly aged men and women with a few more with varying and older ages. But beside him as a thin pig, thinner than he'd ever seen before but still bears some of the girth in the belly that all pigs have.

"Nicky!" Marcus announces. "Come, join us! Have you met the Hunting Club?"

"No, I haven't," _but that's why I'm here._ "Gentlemen," he turns to the rest of them, "ladies."

After introducing the club, Marcus introduces his son, Marshal, the last great gift his wife left him with. "A pleasure to meet ya, Mr. Wilde." His voice is soft, another definitive divergence from his father. While Marcus Hector is a tumultuous man whose laughter portrays no subtlety whatsoever, essentially announcing himself to the room in mirth alone, his son is a stark contrast to his charismatic and loud father. He is rather timid and thin, looking almost like a starved pig had the faint muscles in his frame not been apparent. Which Nick finds is a strange combination.

"So… I hear you're in town to catch the Carrion Killer?" Marshal asks after the two stood in silence as the rest of the group continued talking.

 _Is he referring to the case?_ "Is… that what you people here call him?"

"Well, yes," Marshal answers, "it is a town of crows after all. Guess nuthin' else really fit. I'd imagine it was hard ta' hear about from the media either. Way I understood it, the town didn't want itself associated with a serial killer to the rest of the world."

Nick gets the idea that maybe the bodies were being picked off by crows but that would still leave bone and it's not like crows to pick something completely clean. Fabrics would be largely ignored, and then that idea suddenly went down the drain.

Nonetheless, there was a reason why he wanted to seek them out. "So what did you order from Buckshot, Marcus?"

Marshal sighs with a smile, ready to hear his father spout his shenanigans with another newcomer. Nick needed to know for the case, but somehow he felt like he was going to regret asking.

"Body armor, boy!" he breathes another hearty laugh.

"For what?"

"The crocs, of course! I'm going to test the armor's strength by lettin' it bite me and see if it'll protect my old hide."

"That _cannot_ be safe."

"It isn't," Marshal answers, "but he's gonna do it anyway." He says it like it was normal and, after meeting him, Nick was scarce to argue with that.

But even as Marcus raised a toast to the shining new detective out to save the town, fueling Nick's ego, the fox could not help but feel apologetic. He had other agendas for being here and yet they welcome him as if in some freak accident he had suddenly been part of a long time camaraderie.

This was how An felt around them, he could tell. She had told them about her love of this group, and Nick, twiddling with the beer in his hand that he swore he wouldn't drink, finds himself chugging the glass to make the rest of them happy. The cheers he received simultaneously swelled and broke his heart.

Because Nick had a theory about the Hunting Club. They knew of the closest place to feasibly travel to find the closest gators. Gators, as Nick had discovered in escapades with Mr. Big's capos, were an excellent way to dispose of bodies since they mostly clean things out themselves. But wild animals aren't thorough so perhaps there was evidence there somewhere if in fact that's where the bodies were being dumped.

Thinking that the club's hunting territory was a crime scene is one thing, but thinking that any of these sweet older folk could be the killer was entirely another. Of course he was likely wrong, but if he didn't cover all of his bases, what kind of detective was he?

As Nick worked them down, Judy had a conundrum of her own.

Not being with her partner made things difficult what with Sam stealing glances at her. She could tell she was trying to make an effort to be friendly but Sam shied away before she could really do anything. Then Judy shivered, feeling the icy finger of the cold trail over her arms again.

"Hey," Sam says suddenly, "do you want to go outside? It's warmer out there."

With a quick nod, they leave the two babbling local officers who may or may not have been drunk out of their minds at this point.

They stepped out into the grassy parking lot. Sam sat cross legged on the floor, her shawl draping over her like a veil. Judy joined her there, still cold but a far cry from the artificial winter inside. "Maybe wearing something sleeveless wasn't a great idea."

"Maybe," Sam replies, "but you look good though." The compliment is sincere and Judy can tell. She didn't know why but the vibe she was getting off her was different from before. "Nick is a lucky guy."

"Thank you but… we're not dating." How many times has she said that today?

"Really? But what about the bouquet from this morning?"

"I got him to get it for me," Judy laughed nervously, "an old badger talked him into it and I played along. He got back at me though." There was a hint of red trailing her cheeks and ears.

"But why are you two so close then? I swear if I ever did half the things you two do with Bo, it would've been all over the tabloids!"

 _Bo? Oh! Bogo!_ "Well we're just _like_ that, I guess. I get that some people think it's weird but _we_ don't. I can't really explain why but does it make sense?"

"I couldn't say. Do you like him though?"

"I do, very much."

She had the rising the suspicion that she didn't know what she meant. "How much?" she egged on.

"Enough, I guess. I can't really say _how_ much. Just that I do and, to me, that's all that matters."

Sam had never felt so much envy with any other person. Judy was so sure of herself, her life and her career, but most of all, she was sure about her partner. She practically already had him and she didn't even know if she was in love with him or not. And with the way they were, did it even matter? An intelligent and aspiring little detective whose love life seemed to slowly fall into place without any hiccups.

And where was she? The stoic officer with years strapped to her back, seventeen of them with the man she was _sure_ she was in love with, and still nothing to show for it but a night of heated passion. It hurt her too, thinking about it, because it was the closest she had ever gotten with him and she couldn't even remember it. She woke up that night, naked and filthy, wrapped in his arms, smelling like alcohol and sweat and musk, and it was easily the best morning she'd ever had because she was with him. They would endeavor to forget that it happened. To him it was a night of desperation and nothing more, haphazardly stumbling out of her room with a stream of apologies.

As that memory faded from her mind she realized that she had been tearing up. She wiped the rouge tear from her eye but Judy, ever observant, saw it. And even if she didn't, the way she slumped was every indication that she had something heavy on her mind.

"I'm sorry," Judy says, "I don't know what for but I'm sorry for you."

"Thank you," is all she manages before choking back tears. They flooded her eyes, matting her fur with them as she let them flow unabated. Her heart was in two. She knew that it all along but she couldn't admit it. For all her strength, she had no courage to tell him that she loved him, because she feared that he would not feel the same. It was a simple fear, one so many others have felt, as old as time. But to each it was a monument to pain, and to her, it is as well an opportunity long since passed.

"I'm sorry," Sam says as she wipes another tear, feeling herself come out of the rut she put herself in.

"Oh, there's no need to–"

"I meant about before, about thinking ill of you. I know you could tell."

Judy had no words. She felt ashamed but ultimately knew she was in the right. There was some comfort in knowing Sam was apologetic for it but it was a pyrrhic victory, because all she wanted was to study under a great mind and maybe better herself for it.

Sam doesn't meet her gaze, eying the floor instead. "I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the easiest person to deal with. Just ask Bogo."

"You two didn't get along?"

"The media and our own reports didn't like talking about how little we actually enjoyed each other's company when we started. We'd first had to break out of each other's biases. Biases I'm ashamed to say I've had about you…"

Judy's ears dropped but was nevertheless attentive, and her resolve to comfort her shocked Sam. She didn't, in all her years on the force, had ever met someone so selfless, proving to her time and time again just how excellent an officer she was. And just how better than her she could one day become.

Sam continues, finally making eye contact. "You graduated magna cum laude when I topped my class and only managed suma. You solved a case Bo had struggled with for three months in only two days! And you even cracked a major conspiracy barely passed your first _month_ … You've solved eight major cases already and you aren't even passed your first **year** yet. If you were born in _my_ time, _you_ would have been the hero everyone looked up to. So I'm sorry. I just... I looked at you like an upstart when I really should have been treating you like an equal."

Judy made to speak, wanted to tell her how much she looked up to her and how her misconceptions were forgiven but Sam held out a hand to silence, finally smiling in a genuine way that made her radiant in all her suddenly apparent beauty.

"You don't need to say anything. I know you forgive me cause that's just the way you are."

And as Judy shivered at the icy breeze, Sam took off her shawl and wrapped it around her. "Here, I don't need it." Sam motions to get back inside, and they do, finally talking like they should have. Judy doesn't bring it up anymore, it isn't important. They're on the same page again, and she's all the happier for it.

Inside, Judy spies a crowd clapping along as Kayla dances with Calvary in the center of the ballroom.

"Isn't she lovely?" the badger from this morning asks. "She'll make a fine young man very happy one day."

"I'm sure she would," Judy comments.

"And how about you, young lady? Where is your partner?"

Nick appears over Judy, resting his chin on hear head and in between her ears. "Right here, Miss Avery."

"Such fine young things. Now hurry along." She shoos them away. "No need to concern yourselves with this old bat." She hobbles along, slowly disappearing into the crowd. "Enjoy your night while you're still young."

Somehow Nick felt the need to do just that. As he ushered Judy along, he finds himself taking her hand. He motions to the suddenly flooded dance floor and she is inclined to take him up on that offer. She looks to Sam who shrugs at them and walks away toward the readily excitable Creed.

Judy presses gentle fingers on her own lips, now very unsure of her own ability to dance but is willing to let Nick take the lead.

"You sure you two aren't dating? Cause at this point you're _basically_ attached at the hip," Liandra abruptly interrupts them, rapidly approaching. She is in a roman-esque lavender gown, showing off her slender curves as she saunters to them.

With a lack of a purse, she pulls out a set of keys out of the knot in her hair.

"Keys?" Nick asks as he slowly takes them, wondering if this was some kind of trick.

"To a civilian vehicle, one of my own." Calvary steps in, placing a steady hand on An's shoulder. "I understand that your squad car stands out. I thank that you two took me up on my offer, lookin' like locals, but I figured that this completes the look. Lets ya' blend in."

"It's a commercial Austin Terrier," An describes, "his comfiest car. So you two better appreciate it." She chimes happily then takes Calvary by the arm. "C'mon, ya dumb cat, dance with me."

Calvary shrugs at them as he's dragged along into the dance floor.

Nick and Judy decide that the suddenly lively dance floor wasn't the best place to be. Instead they take to the buffet table. Nick delights himself in a large blueberry French toast whilst Judy enjoys a cinnamon roll drowned in honey. There is a tag above both pastries, saying "Savory" which they recall is Marcus's brand.

"We really should pay him a visit tomorrow," Judy says.

Nick licks the tips of his fingers at the hefty bread. "Lunch maybe?"

She nods.

They join Sam and the rest at their table to eat but the others seem to have finished. Much to their surprise, Creed had sobered up a bit, drinking a tall glass of water which he immediately refills again. The sheriff then looks at all present, and with a serious look, asks them, "so what are your thoughts on the crime scene?"

Nick was dour, not wanting to stab at the ecstatic atmosphere the room had but he had a job to do and he was in the presence of veterans. "It was amateur work," he finally says, "clear signs of the killer panicking… And the other disappearances were clean?" He looks to Kaenid.

"Yup," the wolf responds, "it was as if they vanished out of thin air, just like before."

"You think our copycat flaked after the first attempt's failure?" Judy asks.

"Maybe." Nick says. "There's still a chance he tried something new and realized that it didn't work as well then did what he did best afterward. It _has_ been ten years, he may have gotten old and thought a gun might make it easier."

"That or he's mocking us." Sam had a somber look to her, with hints of pain etching her features.

Nick looks to Judy for answers, who looks at him just as confused. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"He's always been one to leave a message of some sorts." Her gaze is far away, touched by a minute snarl that threatens to shape her quivering lips. "He gives us leads that turn out to be organized dead ends. Maybe he wants us to think there's a copycat out there, make us think we're chasing two when there's really only one. He likes to make things look like mistakes." Because the monster that plagues the town is a beast and a ghost, striking at a quiet little town, making it his prey, where no one was safe no matter what or who you are. Even Sam who found comfort in a sturdy partner and a reliable sheriff who may as well have been her father, was made to fear the creature whose tendrils snaked into the town and snatched innocent lives right from under their noses.

Her trembling form gave them no comfort, because she shook at the idea of him. Creed dared to hide his own fears, but even as he lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, he too found himself fearful, fingers quivering and weak at the memories that haunted him.

"He wants us to know that he's smarter than us," Sam continues. "That he has control and that we'll never catch him no matter how close we think we're getting."

They felt for them. Nick and Judy spied their world from a looking glass, unable to feel their fear or their pain. The town knew a monster by no other name, who spawned legends and myths because the faceless thing was a transparent specter, invisible in the night as in day. Who was everything they had all come to fear, something born from nightmares.

And that was the difference between them and everyone else on that table. Because Nick and Judy did not feel that fear, did not know that pain. They did not feel the cold, icy grip of this monster, and that made them impervious to its mockery. They steeled themselves, knew full well the weight of their task, and would carry on quickly, poised to catch this killer before it got to them. They are young, fresh, and new on the force but with talents well beyond their years. With that, perhaps they could catch this beast in the night, this Carrion Killer.

And maybe, just maybe, they could lift this heavy curse from the town.

A bitter silence followed by the frantic wailings of an otter mother catches their attention. The woman stumbles into the ballroom, all eyes on her as she frantically searches from among them.

"Kayla?" she whispers first, " _Kayla!?_ " She bustles into the crowd, grabbing a young badger by the shoulders. "Have you seen Kayla?" She stumbles again, outward into the crowd into the trembling grasp of Calvary Pride. "Has anyone seen my baby!?" she shouts to the room, but no one answers. No one moves.

Then there is chaos, the room erupting in a panicked frenzy as they scour the grounds for the little otter. Children cry and adults whisper and scream amongst themselves as others flee the room in search for her.

The otter mother is passed into the uneasy arms of her husband as Calvary finds himself unable to breathe.

He is frozen, too shocked to speak. He is there for only a moment longer before his teeth are bare, biting back a bitter roar. Then he's sprinting into the next room shouting, "An!"

Said wolf joins his side at the front door. He looks outward into the dark, scanning the town but knows his eyes will not find her. He fixes Liandra with a powerful gaze, filled with more rage and conviction than she's ever seen in him. And with a steady command which almost sounds like a plea, he says "find her. Bring 'er back to us."

Her senses are honed, nose twitching at the scent she learned to familiarize with at a moment's notice. Kayla is in the air somewhere, a shred of feeble hope An dared to hold onto. In the next moment An is gone as Calvary walks away, shouting commands at the frenzied crowd. "Settle yourselves and gather! We will organize a search party!"

A rustling in the unexplored kitchen catches the officers' attention. Someone may be back there, someone maybe even dangerous. Judy's heightened hearing notes its frantic pattern. Someone in there's running away.

Creed springs into unsteady action, every sway and tilt threatening to topple him. Sam steadies the hefty man who then passes him onto Terence. "I'll check the kitchen," Sam says before weaving into the crowds.

Nick and Judy turn to Creed who says, "we'll keep order here. Go!"

They nod then dash outside into the parking lot. Nick quickly presses the unlock button on their keys as they open the trunk. Inside, their guns and holsters are at the ready. Fully loaded and cleaned. They don't hesitate to put them on, sliding the straps into place as if they had practiced.

"Judes," Nick says, "follow Sam and see about that noise in the kitchen. I'll follow An and back her up."

She nods then runs back inside.

Nick wastes no time in leaving the property, only barely seeing An run down a street then turn into a corner. He runs in her direction, quick and nimble like a trained track runner. He feels his muscles tense at every hurried step, resolve tightening his features as he presses on toward her.

His palms are sweaty, matting his fur, which he knows might make things difficult later.

He stops when he sees an alleyway cut through the block. He thinks, at first, that it may be a favorable shortcut to catch up to An, but he peers down into the dark and realizes that it was the perfect place to hide. He struggles with the idea of going down there, but his instincts press him on.

The shadows engulf him, leaving him in the dark as he slowly makes his way inside. His night vision gives him a distinct advantage, cutting through the shadows in a steady scan.

In the distance he can see two faint lights, both red, and Nick remembers the Dead Horse legend, with the drunkard and glowing red eyes. Perhaps it was nothing, but a mysterious alleyway with a suspicious vehicle suggested otherwise.

One step after the other was painfully slow and steady, yet fearless. He pulls out his pistol, ready to fire as his finger already finds the trigger.

"Hey!" he shouts at the vehicle when he hears it rev. It is still too far to tell what kind of vehicle it was but he endeavors to find out. He runs down the alley, splashing muck over his trousers and pushing away trash cans. He doesn't know if it's panic or adrenaline but he is sure as hell not letting the killer get away with that little girl.

He finds a tall fence suddenly but doesn't stop. He jumps off a dumpster and vaults over the fence. He lands in a steady roll but gets up too quickly and doesn't pay attention, smacking his shoulder on a protruding plank from a stack of wood. He grits through the pain, hissing at it but squeezes the gun, hoping his aim is still able.

The car still doesn't move and he doesn't know why but is thankful anyway. He pierces through the dark, passing haunting shadows toward the car in a desperate sprint.

Then the lights from the vehicle invade his sights in a painful high beam. He barely manages to cover his eyes when he is temporarily blinded. He steadies to halt for only a moment. And in that moment, he is smacked in the back of the head, falling to the floor in a meaty thud.

He doesn't see much else down there but the swaying grass of a back alley playground and the sound of the heavy breathing of his assailant. His grip on his gun loosens as he fades out of consciousness.

The last thing he hears is the car pulling out of the alley.

The last thing he sees is his own blood pooling over the floor.

**~o~~~o~**

_I won't lie. Perhaps the worst thing about this case wasn't how it ended or how it made us feel. The worst of it all had to do with Kayla. As if knowing she died wasn't enough, it was_ _**how** _ _she died that gets most people. You'd see it in Calvary's face, that utter rage that shattered a man who once seemed unmovable. But me and Nick… there's a part in the report that we only vaguely talk about. We didn't want to dwell on it. And even as we skimmed it, we still had a hard time putting it down. It's the kind of thing that keeps you up at night, the kind that haunts you forever, an idea that is, at first, hard to live with and is yet still hard to swallow. Knowing how she died was one thing but… knowing_ _**why** _ _…_

_~Judy Hopps_


	7. The Whisper of Crows (pt. 1)

**Chapter 3 – The Whisper of Crows**

_The sun out was beautiful over the canopy the very next morning, glaring at us like a bitter mockery of the night's failure. We'd lost someone, snatched right from under our noses, but there was no time to mourn or wallow because it was then that we knew that before the day was done, someone else would disappear._

_~Judy Hopps_

**~o~~~o~**

Nick never did like Mondays but this particular Monday, out of all the Mondays, was probably the worst thus far.

He had a lot of trouble focusing. His head was spinning and the light pouring into the room made it hard to pry open his eyes which, if he wasn't terribly mistaken, now _both_ felt swollen. And the haze of the morning did little to alleviate the terribly uncomfortable sensation throbbing at the back of his head.

The recollection of last night's events came altogether as a flurry of sights, sounds, and symphonies. A combination better suited for the drunk but he was almost certain he only took one glass that night. Few images are clear and even fewer made sense as he wracked his brain for some clear grasp as to how he managed to end up in bed. But then he remembers how his cheek pressed against a cold hard floor and realizes that he was hit.

A tentative hand reached over the side of his ear to tuck under the pillow, tracing his fur toward the injured area. He could feel the bruising at the back of his head, stinging a little as his fingers felt over the whole of it. He winced when he touched its core, quickly pulling out his hand.

It was the second injury he got because of this case. It may have been too soon to say but it might start turning into a recurring theme, considering his current luck. "Mondays…" he groaned.

He is terribly aware of the pillow weighing on his other arm. He wouldn't look at it. Looking meant moving his particularly sore head, which was in no way appealing. All he wanted to do was sleep a little longer today. He tried to jerk his other hand out of the pillow… until he realized that it wasn't a pillow.

His splayed out hand curved carefully over the soft fur that was pressed against his arm. First it touched the hem of her shorts, cheap fabric which was once bright pink but now dull from use. Then her waist, where his fingers, tentative yet curious, caressed her toned muscles and belly, earning him a pleased sigh from the sleeping bunny. He continues tracing circles over her belly, delighting in the sensation she surges up his fingers making morning that much more bearable.

She coos at his touch and suddenly she feels like she needs more of his warmth. So her hand clutches onto his shoulder, pulling her into the crook of his neck, a familiar place where she'd find comfort in his presence. There she feels safe, cradled in terrifying strength she knows will never turn on her.

Nick doesn't know what else he expects when she nuzzles him. Despite the pain, he finds himself nuzzling her back, eliciting sounds that both excite and delight him. He'd stay there all morning if he could.

She stirs, yawning and stretching, pressing into the fur valley of his chest. She feels the bare contours of it, the subtle pectorals that is both chiseled stone and cozy fluff at the same time.

She shifts then, chest meeting his, dropping his hand onto her back. He feels the small of her back, tiny and immaculate in his hand. It is an ocean of warmth that tickles his fingers, frail yet impossibly strong as he takes almost all of its length under his palm. He trails his hand upward, toward her upper back over her loose white tee, and he realizes that she isn't wearing a bra. He is now very conscious of her breasts pressing against him.

She yawns again, waking up, her breath pouring over his chest, which he realizes has been damp. Her cold breath chills it, making him uncomfortable. His left hand checks the drenched fur, and he wonders if she drooled on him. "My chest is wet…"

"So is my face…" She lifts her head, only to meet his cheek with her forehead. She doesn't push and settles where she is, dropping to his side. "Did I wake you?"

"I was up a while ago, Fluff. You make a pretty heavy pillow by the way." He smirks at her, and she gives him an unimpressed look.

She buries her head into his shoulder. "Shut up. I'm comfy and you know it."

He was scarce to disagree.

"Yeah I do," he replies quickly. "You'd be even comfier if you didn't drool on me though."

"I don't drool, Nick," she says flatly.

"Then why is my chest wet?"

She slowly props herself up on arm, the other hand flipping her ears out of her face before touching his chest. It's incredibly cold in the air conditioned room but her hand lingers still. But she isn't embarrassed or curious because of it. Her eyes are far away, not really looking at anything. She doesn't say a word.

It's then that he notices the bags in her eyes and the reddened circles around them. He sits up, catching her gaze as she looks at him briefly before looking away again. Now she's embarrassed, but only because he knows what happened.

"Were you crying?"

She hugs him then, and he obliges her. She is thankful that his arms have not lost their strength, that his smirk hadn't faltered, and that he was still in one piece.

No tears find her, drained from the night before. She had found him on the floor in that dangerous back alley, bleeding into the earth. The ambulance arrived quickly but her heart sank when it drove away. It almost felt like the last she'd see of him.

She'd find him again an hour later in a hospital bed. The doctor said he sustained nothing serious, a token to his resilience. She chuckled and just called him stubborn. The wound on his head was stitched up and she was given instructions on how to nurture the bruise. He said he might have sustained some memory loss but the chances of that were slim.

She took him home after that, the bed going to another patient in the tiny hospital. Sam carried him in before leaving them alone, respectfully choosing not to ask why there was only one bed. Then Judy crawled under the sheets with him, clutched the tuft of his chest, and prayed that he would wake up just fine.

"New rule," she says, pulling back only slightly from the embrace. "We don't leave each other's side while we're still here, alright?"

"You got it, Carrots."

She rubbed her dry eyes. "Good. Now get up, Nick, we got work to do."

He wanted to groan and complain just to irk her but now was not the time for that. His banter would have to wait. He was a mess and they had a long day ahead of them.

Judy made her way to the bathroom quickly, leaving Nick alone again.

He busied himself with finding something comfortable to wear today. He pulls out a black long-sleeved turtle neck sweater, a remnant from his time with Mr. Big. He'd wear a blazer over it back then, kept him warm and looking smart. But it didn't suit him, if he was being honest. It spoke of order and control, family and uniformity in a mafia that treated such things as identifiers for who among them belonged. But he was a chaotic element, even on the force, something that was sporadic and acted of his own accord if he saw it fit.

Perhaps that is why he is so drawn to Judy. She is chaotic in her own way, shattering norms and surpassing expectations. Those who dared to doubt her still would quickly find themselves disproven. The look of shock on people's faces always amused Nick but he'd find it especially pleasing when he wasn't the one causing it.

He takes the sweater along with a pair of jeans and puts them aside.

Then he hears a knock on the door.

He opens the door to find Sam in a jogging outfit, though she was barely even sweating.

"Um… morning?" Nick says.

"Mm," she replies, chugging her water, respectfully ignoring that Nick was shirtless and that the shorts he was wearing were probably Judy's. She makes to say something else then she deadpans at the expectant little fox. "Are you staring at my breasts?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "Sam, you're nearly three times taller than me. From down here, those things are half the view," he states flatly.

"Mhm," she doesn't know how to respond to that. Most men are enamored by her, even Calvary flirted with her when they first met, but Nick looked at her like she was some genderless entity. She could almost swear that no one was a woman in his mind besides Judy and maybe his own mother.

"Actually," he says suddenly, "they do look bigger somehow… is that a push-up bra?"

With most any other man (Bogo especially), it would have been an embarrassing topic she'd sooner knock the teeth out of someone for, but with Nick? It wasn't that she found comfort in his presence, just that he seemed so largely disinterested in the formalities of the rest of the world that she could not help but feel no shame around him. He was disarming that way, much like Judy's empiricism or overflowing kindness. "Well, Mona made me wear it – she's Creed's wife by the way – and she wanted me to maybe nab a guy while I'm here. I'm not really interested but you don't say no to Creed **or** his wife."

"He's married? He didn't mention her at all when he was talking about his trip."

"Cause she didn't go," she replies quickly.

Nick was rightly confused. Sam realized that she didn't give him any context. "She didn't go cause she couldn't. She gets sea sick, air sick, car sick, she even gets dizzy in the transit or in an elevator."

"Is she… ill somehow?"

"Oh yes, totally." Nick's eyes went wide, Sam forgetting again the context. "I-it's not what you think! She's just… well she's sick right now, last day of a cold, I think. The woman is kind of frail, but she's got nothing serious or terminal. She's clumsy too."

"Not exactly the kind of woman I pictured Creed marrying."

"I know, right? But that's exactly why he married her." Sam was elated, quietly laughing to herself. "She's nothing like him. Not a hardened veteran, or a tight little model, cause he passed up those kinds of women before. Creed picked her cause she was everything he wasn't, and he loves her for that." Because Mona was a glimpse into another life for Creed, an ever-present reminder of the new chapter in his life.

Judy walked in with her ears tied up in a towel, the rest of her dressed in a grey tee and jeans. She slings on the dark purple shawl Sam gave her the night before. It looks good on her and Sam makes no motion to take it back.

"Hey, Sam," she chimes. "Oh!" She fixes the shawl before moving to take it off. "Did you need it back, I-"

"Keep it," Sam says, "it looks good on you."

"Oh… thank you." Judy was alight. Sam was finally ready to respect her as an equal and she swelled visibly, which could have been incredibly embarrassing had she not caught herself.

Nick had realized that the two were on good terms since last night, but as nice as it was, Sam didn't come here to chat. "So why are you here, Sam?"

"Well, to check up on you, for one, but you seem fine. We'll also like to see you at the Sheriff's Office later today, get your thoughts on the case."

"Which reminds me," Judy inserts, "Nick, what do you remember from last night."

"I – ngh!" A troubling pain Nick is reminded of stabs through the back of his skull like a needle. He was hit hard, and he can feel the bruise burrow deep into him. He wasn't even sure if his skull was in one piece.

He shakes away the pain, the two girls having moved to assist him but he motions that he's fine. "I… I remember everything up until I went down that alley. After that is kind of a blur. I remember running down it, chasing the red lights of some backed up car, a fence in my way at some point and then… hitting the floor." He rattles his brain for more but none come. He tries again still but then it clearly starts to hurt, prompting Judy to ease him and lay gentle hands on his wrist and head as she sits him down. "Sorry, Sam, wish I could give you more."

"You must really be out of it, Wilde, cause that gives us plenty."

He gave them a bewildered look, and it clearly pained him more to try and figure it out.

Judy was worried. It should have been obvious to Nick but seeing as he was injured, it was understandable that he couldn't see it. But this worries her, he's usually much more observant and if that was hindered at all, then who knows what they'll miss with just one set of eyes. She had grown largely dependent on their synergy to solve cases quickly and efficiently, and having that altered in any way felt jarring. _I hope this doesn't toss us off our game._

And she could tell, Nick was no different. She knew Nick would hate it if he was any less efficient, worse if he felt like he was more a liability than an asset. So Judy caresses him again, easing him as she makes eye contact for him to stop. "Nick, tell me, how were you knocked out?"

"I was struck, a… blow to the back of the head."

"And what does that tell us?"

"Um…" It was as if there was a block in his mind, obstructing important pathways he struggled to clear. He was about ready to give up until... "Height," he answers under grit teeth.

Judy releases a breath she didn't know she was holding before she nods at him, stroking his head.

Sam, having thought it through already, expounds for them. "That tells us that your assailant is about your height or more. Leveled swings for anyone your height and kneeling swings work with taller animals."

"That only cuts out an unlikely minority," Nick mutters under his pained stare over the carpeted floor.

"Any lead is a good lead. But try not to get your hopes up. This fucker has a knack for turning them around."

Sam leaves after further discussion, leaving the two alone again. Before going, she invites them to join her at the Sheriff's office, hoping to find out more with anything they may have collected from the past night's events.

Nick tries to remember more when Judy turns away, not wanting her to scold him for trying. He remembers a bright light from… the ballroom? Then laughter, one drink, An dragging Calvary into the dance floor… two hands on Judy's waist, consciously trying not to touch her tail and… were they dancing?

He asks her if they did from across the room, her politely ignoring the fact that he was straining himself. She answers with a sad _nope_ but returns the question, asking if, when this was all over, they could go out dancing and maybe drink a little.

His was an apt and immediate _yeah,_ saying that it would be nice.

Then his eyes stray to the window outside, and the morning dawn poured from it, sending golden slits through the cracks in the blinds. He pulls them away, and stares at the town beneath and all that surrounds it.

The sun breached over the canopy, painting it in a broad golden swathe across miles of flora, then stretched its divine arm over the town, filling it with a glow that seemed immaculate, almost fictional. _What a beautiful morning wasted on a terrible day._

Judy returns to him with the case file clutched in her hands and she knows what he's thinking. She does not need to speak, does not need to ask, because she knows that melancholy, that far away gaze that speaks volumes of stray thoughts that all come to the same conclusion. Come the next sunrise, someone else in town will have died.

So she stands beside him, rests a head on his shoulder, a silent conversation passing between them, dreading the day that comes.

* * *

There is a gloom to the town that sends the wrong sensations down Nick's spine, worse than they did yesterday. Before he'd only meet the townsfolk's smile with pity, knowing full well what plagued them and recognized it as coping. But here where there is nothing but a thick fog of something eerie, drowning the town of crows in a miasma of melancholy that wretches his gut the wrong way. But it helps that he's driving, finding the dull black road much more interesting all of a sudden.

Judy is much the same but deigns to fiddle with the reports she'd read a hundred times over. She'd weave through the words, cleave through days of hard fought police work to find its way in paper in mere minutes. The media would tell of the kidnappings with a hefty count, presenting dates and numbers with complacency and disinterest, turning people into statistics. But here, over the files of detailed backgrounds and happenstance, there is an unnerving sense of sympathy.

Parents, children, young adults with bright futures. Sam and Bogo wrote up these reports like an obituary for those lost, telling of who they are as people rather than victims. An entire gerbil family was taken and they'd wrote about their contributions to the town and what a shame it was to lose them. Neither of them knew these people personally, but as time went on, it was clear that they'd grown attached. The further down the reports go, the stories they tell grow only larger. It was no wonder why the two had taken the poor end of the case so badly. It wasn't about reputation or career, they'd come to feel for the town as if they had lived in it their whole lives.

Judy sighs and Nick doesn't ask why. One glance at the stack of papers on her lap and he knows exactly what she's going through. Some people look to the police force with a sense of duty, an eagerness to prove themselves on the field, and too soon do they forget why they need police in the first place.

It is more than just a job, it's a responsibility. Like a surgeon by the table, they are the only things between a person and death. It's a tremendous task sugar coated with tales of grandeur and heroism. But far too often than people will admit, there are failures that shake the very foundations of even the most stoic of figures. Victories in the force come swiftly and usually go unnoticed, but it only takes one failure, a minute too late or a moment's hesitation, and a failure comes too suddenly and it can very well destroy a person. Some people don't have the stomach to last one failure, some going crazy or quitting the force, but Sam and Bogo endured sixty-eight, not even counting the ones they're sure those two are dealing with right now, and it's a wonder how they even go on.

When Nick parks by City Hall, Judy fixes him with a glare that is pleading and desolate. He takes her by the shoulder, pulling her into him as he lets her melt into the warmth of his sweater. "Are we really ready for this?" she asks.

He wanted to lie, and even though she'd see right through it, he knows she'll pretend to agree anyway. But it was neither the time nor the place, and facing reality as it was, however grim, needed to take precedent. "I don't know, Carrots. Part of me wonders if we're in over our heads, but we're too deep in it now and there's no turning back." His hand finds the curve over the back of her neck and he brushes down it gently. "Judes, what's wrong?"

She presses firmly into his chest and inhales softly, breathing a quiet sigh into his sweater. There are a million and one answers to his question but she chooses none of them, falling into silence as she presses into him in an attempt to chase away her own thoughts.

"Carrots?" he asks, looking down at her.

She doesn't meet his gaze. "I thought I lost you back there. I could hear your heart beating but it was slow and I panicked." She looks up to him, desperation in her eyes, coloring her in fear, making her vulnerable. "This is too real, Nick. I don't know if I'm losing my mind or not but I know that I can't stand losing you. And seeing that last night I…"

He pulls her in and she would cry in his arms if she had any tears left. He knows it's more than just about losing him. The case was getting to them and last night was sure to be only the first of many grave encounters that they'll have while they're here. The hardships that would come from the task at hand would only mount. But there was a deeper fear, bubbling beneath the surface and they would dread its coming because it was certain. Before all this is over, this case will break them.

And despite that, they knew it wouldn't break them apart. Nick, suddenly, found the prospect of anything separating them seemed impossible. Perhaps it wasn't clear before, but it certainly was now. The pain in the back of his head was a harsh reminder of what happens when he leaves her, and the warmth collecting on his chest told him of what he has when he doesn't.

So he places a hand on her head, a comforting pat followed soon after. His smile is bright, filled with the morning sunrise, hiding the sliver of pain that lingered about him. And then she slowly smiles up at him, a silent promise to bulwark till the last, sealed in that moment.

No words were needed but he wanted to speak anyway. "Judy I–" there is a rap at their window "–oh for the love of…"

At the tinted window, the same yak from this morning stood by it, leaning down with a serious look on his face. The window rolls down as Barns stood there while his partner, Clem, leaned on a wall somewhere in the background looking elsewhere. He doesn't look at the pair, eyes locked onto his notepad. "Mind movin' yer vehicle?" he states coolly.

"Ahem," Nick sounds. Clem glances at them, looks away, then immediately turns back to them, eyes wide. She wants to signal her partner who he was trying to reprimand but the dumb yak flipped through his empty notepad none the wiser.

It was a sight reminiscent of yesterday morning, what with the way the two cuddled in the same seat, but now looking like locals in a civilian vehicle. But Clem feared for their careers because the two were kind enough not to report them to the Sheriff but now they just might. She tries to run over to him but Barns opens his mouth faster than she can get there. _Fuckin' Barnaby…!_

"Look I don't have–" finally looking up, he drops his notepad in shock. "O-officers! I didn't–"

"Save it," Nick says, exasperated, "what's the issue deputy?"

"J-just that we can't have anyone parkin' by the door right now…" He gives them a weak laugh as they exit the Austin Terrier.

"Just park the car, deputy." Nick tosses him the keys before entering City Hall. "Hand me the keys upstairs. We'll be seeing the mayor." The deputies take his suddenly relaxed town as forgiveness, and Clem sighs in relief, but not before bopping Barns in the back of the head.

Judy gives him a pointed look that he only regards once the door behind them shuts. "Nick, that was rude. He was only doing his job."

"If I lose the chance to give you one of my emotional, heart-wrenching speeches, the least he can do is park our car."

She doesn't know how to respond to that, so she settles with not responding at all.

City Hall is a mess. Solo cups litter the floor with more than a few drunks still in the ballroom. There are deputies here too, part of the search team Creed arranged, and they are half awake, fighting away sleep with coffee that doesn't work for them as well as it should. Others have elected to sleep anyway, finding any surface comfortable enough to collapse into.

Somewhere in there is an emaciated polar bear, thin despite the bulk of her kind. She approaches people gently, comforting them slowly, a gentle smile about her and an aura that seems to make things less grim. If they had to guess, this had to be Mona, Creed's wife. He gives them a passing smile when she enters the next room, and they can see her figure, front to back, and it is graceful but brittle, like carved glass. Her footfalls are elegant, not lumbering like the rest of her kind.

It is only a ghost of the chaos that came before. They still remember the screaming, the eerie silence everywhere else, and then Kayla's mother.

They find her in the living room passed the ballroom, sleeping in her husband's arms who is still dreadfully awake. He looks up at them weakly, red circles still fresh around his eyes. It's clear to them, he wouldn't cry in front of his wife so he did so when she slept, still trying his very best to be strong for her and himself both. But his quivering lips are telling of that strength fading, dangerously so, becoming brittle and would certainly shatter when his wife wakes.

By the time they make it out, they find the staircase littered with terrible drunks and sleepy deputies. They weave passed them, stopping momentarily when they see Liz and her soon-to-be-boyfriend Reeder, sleeping next to each other. The sight is of little comfort, but it is more than they could have asked for.

Once on the second floor, they catch only a glimpse of a distressed Liandra entering the mayor's office, the door quickly locking behind her.

Minutes pass before Barns and Clem meets them upstairs with their keys. "We parked you by the exit of the parking lot, just by the guard post."

But of course they were the wrong keys but Nick didn't make to mention. "Thanks deputy." Nick's smile is fake, still a little bitter from earlier, but the two don't even notice and smile back.

"So," he continues, "what can you tell us about last night?"

The two's bright disposition drops, looking at each other nervously. "Well," Clem starts, "nuthin', actually, Officer Wilde. Search was fruitless it was, neither head nor tail of our crook."

"We'd been lookin' since four in the morning and even the sheriff 'imself still drivin' around lookin' for Kayla," Barns adds.

Nick and Judy glance at each other surprised, then back at them. "The sheriff was drunk last night," Judy says, "he has someone driving for him, right?"

"He's with Kaenid but the sheriff nearly ran into a wall last night. He had to take over after. But they been at it since."

"It's nine AM," Judy comments, "that means they've been awake for longer than twenty-four hours. Are they even tired?"

Clem laughs before quickly righting herself. "I don't know what you heard, but it's like Kaenid never sleeps! Wolf's never tired, never seen 'im so much as pant! I tell ya', underneath that uniform, he'd have ta' be some sorta athlete."

"Yeah," Barns says, "you notice the little chub around his belly? They say it's a bullet proof vest he never takes off. Kinda crazy when ya' think about it. Timid Terence is more than what the shiverin' fur he seems ta' be."

"Ya'll gossipin' about the wolf?" Marcus Hector asks as he climbs the steps up to them. The smell of freshly baked pie wafting in the wind about them is the first thing they sense before they look at him, and even still their eyes are drawn to the confectionary in his hands. "I beg ya not ta' do that. Terence is a fine young man, gem o' the office he is."

The deputies laugh pleasantly. "Ah, it ain't nuthin' ill, Marcus. Just tellin' 'em about the rumors 'bout his vest is all," Barns responds.

Marcus rolls his eyes. "Didn't your mothers ever tell ya' that gossip is the devil's work? Besides, it's all hogwash, the lot of it! Ain't nobody in town been close enough to Terence to see if it were true, not even Creed. Them rumors got no weight to 'em so I advise that you pay them no mind."

The pair twiddles about, embarrassed for being scolded.

"Isn't that derogatory?" Judy questions, drawing his attention much to the relief of the deputies.

"Hogwash?" His laugh is hardy and strong, brimming bright in the somber atmosphere. "Nah, it don't bother me or my boy. It's just a sayin', it don't mean nuthin' about the way it used to." Suddenly Judy was very embarrassed for being so against being called cute.

Nick notices it and remarks, "that's a really refreshing response, Marcus. If only everyone else saw it your way."

Judy gave him a pointed look, one that threatened that if he tried to say something like that again, his privileges would be provoked. Though Nick was the exception to the rule, he'd explained that he just thought she was cute, and that it didn't mean to generalize bunnies in any way. He meant no offense by it and she'd eventually agreed that he would be the only one allowed to use it. She knows that he doesn't actually have anything against her rules, he usually just doesn't care, but he knows it pushes her buttons when he does.

But she won't let it get to her. A swift elbow to his side is enough to send Nick the right message before she returns her attention to Marcus. "So what's with the pie?"

"Oh, right. Well I've been workin' on it all mornin' with Marshal. It's a special one made for the mayor. I know he's havin' it hard right now and I thought a mornin' with a fresh pie might do him some good."

"That's very generous of you, Marcus," Judy comments.

"Why thank you, Miss Hopps but it's much less out o' my own generosity. Rather it's a sense o' responsibility any decent person here oughta have. Calvary's done right for this town and leavin' 'im when he's down just won't do. This town owes its stability ta' him and Kayla both – rest her soul – so it's only right that we do what we can to get him back on his feet. If not for ourselves, not for this town, hell, even if not for _him,_ this town oughta rally to the idea that we do it for _her_ if nuthin' else. It's what Kayla woulda wanted."

His is a dejected sigh, pouring the lamentations that tore through his glowing aura like a savage knife. It was clear to them that Marcus had been dealing with the loss just as hard as everyone else, and when he should have been mourning, here he was instead, thinking of someone else. "That bastard that took Kayla… why on God's green earth would anybody do that? Why would you take such a precious young thing?" He speaks without anger, more sad than anything else. His calm is still leveled despite his grief, an impressive show of strength that stands as a testament to the resilience of the town. But yet the sorrow does not hide every facet of his anger, laid bare as he grits his teeth at some unpleasant thought. "When ya'll catch Carrion…" He doesn't look at them, eyes beset on the pie but really at nothing. "I just wanna let ya' know that… no one would blame ya' if ya suddenly decided to put a bullet through his head. He ain't deservin' of a swift death, but anythin' less than dyin' he _don't_ deserve."

Nick and Judy had the same thought, mentally reeling at the idea of having to kill someone, but before Judy could speak, Nick took initiative for her, knowing that he might as well take the blow from the grieving pig. "Marcus," he says softly, "I'm sorry to say but we can't just do that."

Marcus doesn't look at all surprised as a gentle smile graces his lips. "I know, ha ha, that's just the way you two are. Ya'll are good young folk." He places a hand on Nick's shoulder then shifts to Judy's, looking at them straight in the eyes as he does. He wants to show them that he takes no offense and that there is yet still some solace in someone who is at least doing something about it.

"Now I can't stay here. Knowing Calvary, I've no illusions of the man _not_ takin' his time, but I got other pies ta' bake and a son to comfort. Boy babysat little Kayla once upon a time so he's takin' it extra hard." He hands them the pie with his other hand. "Please do give this ta' him and… tell 'im that the Hectors send their regards."

And with that he was gone. His gait was imperceivable, not telling of how he was at that point. Old as he was, Marcus was well in control of his emotions, and it seemed that he would not let the killer in town sour him too much. He may not have been anything like Kayla or Calvary, but it seems that he certainly does his part to take care of the town. They simply couldn't let these people down.

A stumbling from behind them catches their attention, light hoofed feet clambering along the floor gracelessly as a meek gazelle falls before the two, spilling her notepad and various colored pens. Barns and Clem, who have been taking a backseat for a time as they leaned against the wall, excitedly amble towards her and pick her up.

"Oh, um, thank you, Barnaby, Clementine," she says sheepishly.

"Think nuthin' of it," Barns happily replies.

"Yeah, we're only doin' our job," Clem adds, stars clear in her eyes.

The pair is too enamored to notice that they were not only making the gazelle nervous by smiling up at her and holding onto her arms a little too long, but also that they had completely forgotten to pick up her things. Nick and Judy do it themselves, holding them out to her.

"Thank you, um…" She wants to take them but the deputies have her arms locked. "Could you two maybe, uh… let me go?"

Nick rolls his eyes as the two quickly let go, apologizing profusely.

"Hey," Kaenid calls from the stairs, looking at them, "leave Miss Ripple alone you two! Now come down here and man the damn front door like you were told to!"

"Y-yessir!" they say quickly, running down. Kaenid waves at them quickly.

When the gazelle takes her things, she audibly _eeps_ at the sight of the wolf. "H-hi, Terence!" she manages to shout, but it comes off like a loud whisper that is painfully sharp in Judy's ear.

"Hey, Gizelle." He notices Judy's wince and gives her an apologetic smile. "You interviewing them?"

"I'd like to." She looks at the pair. "If… if that's okay?"

Nick looks at the door to Calvary's office and thinks that Marcus probably knows better than them and that they'd be here a little longer. He shrugs. "Why not. It's not like we don't have the time."

Gizelle squeals, making Judy wince again. This time she's the one who apologizes to Judy, hands cupped over her mouth but is quickly calmed when Judy waves it off.

"Good luck, Gizelle," Kaenid calls from downstairs. "I'll see you tonight." Those last words earned him baleful looks from all the present deputies, of which he cleverly ignores.

"So you're Gizelle Ripple?" Judy asks.

The timid girl nods hesitantly, not liking where this was going.

"I'm sorry if you get this a lot, but are you related to _Gazelle_ Ripple?"

"Yeah, she's… my cousin." She laughs nervously.

She is almost the spitting image of her. Her hips are much thinner by comparison, looking fragile from hooves to the horns. She is actually quite dangerously thin, looking lighter than Judy's own rifle. Despite the size difference, she could probably lift her too.

She also carries herself very differently. Her own posture is skewed with nocked knees clinging together awkwardly in what she attempts is a straight stand. Her apparel is also much more conservative, hiding skin with as much as she can. But behind the timid disposition, there is a semblance of the beauty underneath, hiding behind layers of clothes and a mess that is her hair.

"You know," Nick says, "I really should have noticed sooner but you _do_ look almost exactly like her."

Judy sensed her discomfort with the comparison the minute she mentioned Gazelle, which is why she didn't ask about any further. And the discomfort she gave them is evident of how right she is, and how dumb Nick is.

But in all fairness, Gizelle doesn't seem as bothered as Judy thought she would be. "Oh, but I'm really nothing like her. I can barely stand, let alone dance. And she's good at just about everything! Me on the other hand I… really don't have any talents."

"Don't bring yourself down. You're a reporter!" Judy reasons. "That must mean you have _something_ you're good at, right?"

"Oh, I think they really only hired me for my name. The Courier clearly enjoys the free publicity, but I'm really just happy to have a job."

Judy can see it in the way she looks away, a sadness that lurks beneath the bashful overlay. "Don't take this the wrong way but I don't think you're too happy with your job."

Gizelle is surprised she noticed, and the way Nick looks at her tells her that he saw the same. She's the only one surprised she realized it, and she finds herself more than just a little impressed with the bunny. "You know, they talk about how smart you are. I – and please don't take this the wrong way – I actually thought they were all exaggerated or something. But... yeah, I'm not as happy as I could be. I do my best to give them articles but I have so much trouble all the time and I submit late and even when I manage them on time, my work never even gets picked! I haven't had a feature in that paper in months!" Even when she was mad she was still surprisingly quiet, her sighs were barely breaths and her grunts sounded like sighs. The loudest noise she made was her whine, and that was basically just a weighted squeak.

Nick knew the feeling. He'd wanted to go straight in the past but the opportunities he found before became dead ends, mired with terrible bosses, insufferable coworkers, terrible hours, and a veritable mish mash of the horrors of office work. And to think that a frail young thing would have to go through the same? "Why don't you just you quit and do something else?"

"Ugh, I wish! But what else would I do? This is the only job I've held for longer than a week." There is an inkling in Gizelle that she probably shouldn't open up to complete strangers but it wasn't like she had many real friends in town.

"Officers!" Terence quickly sprints up the stairs, taking it three at a time. He reaches the top with little effort and hands them their car keys. "Sorry. They handed you the wrong keys." Nick then hands him back the other set, quickly dispersing the thought of keeping it in the hopes of the deputies freaking out again but it's clear that it would only really affect Terence right now.

Kaenid quickly waves at them and gives Gizelle a toothy smile that positively makes her melt the minute he turns around.

As her weak knees buckle and she collapses till her legs are splayed to her sides on the floor, Nick and Judy chuckle, clearly amused by her. "So… you and Kaenid, huh?" Nick points out.

"It certainly seems like you two have something, seeing as you two are having dinner," Judy adds.

"Oh, that?" She pulls through a bundle of her own brunette hair, tugging shyly, hoping to hide behind it. "Well… no. I'd like to but he's really only showing me a few places to eat that are decent and are well away from the other deputies. My related-to-a-celebrity status makes moving around hard sometimes so he's really just helping me out."

"But you like him?" Judy can't help but feel that the same question could be directed at them.

"Well besides a lot of the older animals, he's basically the only guy my age who isn't fawning over me cause of my cousin. He doesn't seem to care who I'm related to. Like all that matters is me and who _I_ am for once."

The little gazelle swoons at the thought of him then, suddenly chewing at her hair with a pleasant daydream she seems to haplessly wander into. It's only when they point out that she's actually chewing strands off her own hair does she realize that she hadn't even begun the interview. Gizelle proceeds to quietly scold herself in a silent monologue the two do their best not to laugh at.

"Was wondering when you'd come back to us," Nick remarks. "So what's this interview supposed to be about?"

"Anything really. You two are kinda famous so just about whatever you two would like to discuss would be great! The case too, maybe." She's notably loosened up around them and that makes them relieved.

"We're not really allowed to disclose too much about the case but we'll tell you what we can."

Judy wants to get to know her, even if only to get close enough to be trusted with fixing her up. Gizelle clearly doesn't see her own potential, beauty and brains hidden behind limitations she built herself. Judy once felt herself build such walls, and knew all too well where she would be had she decided not to overcome them.

Letting people ignore their own potential just wasn't her style. Just ask Nick.

* * *

Liandra, who was still in last night's gown, tosses a piece of splint with a shred of Kayla's dress tied around it at Calvary's desk. "It was tied to a _fucking_ crow…" She falls into the seat opposite his, groaning as she pulls hard on her own face.

She is seething, mumbling to herself, perhaps ranting about the long night she had but her words come out too quickly to understand and Calvary was in no shape to comprehend her. Instead he sits there, watching her as she begins to pace along his carpeted floor, him trying his best to understand.

Calvary himself is leveled and calm, taking what little clarity he had left to appear stoic before her. But of course it is a front, a mask to hide the shamble of a man underneath. Mid-conversation he finds himself falling into his own thoughts, dejecting into a self-deprecating spiral. He'd tried to look at it differently, really, _truly_ did, but no matter how he looked at it, he would always feel that he'd failed the town, failed _Kayla._

Liandra saw him slip from conversation the minute he did. Even when he didn't speak during any of her rants, he made it a point to make eye contact or at least look at her, but there he was looking down at nothing, adrift in thoughts she knows are destroying him. "Cal?"

She has caught him but it does nothing but draw his attention to her momentarily. His visage broke all too quickly, leaking lamentations like an aura over the mask that is now transparent and all too frail. But Calvary is not content with looking weak and pathetic, especially before _her._

So he looks up at her, gaze turning blank with only the faintest hint of sympathy etching into his eyes. "An," he says slowly, righting himself on his seat, "ya' had a long night. Ya' did the best you could, and I and all the town owe a great debt to you for tryin' so hard. But the night's done, you ran yer fastest and followed the trail till the end, and even walked all the way back here."

She crosses her arms. She doesn't like this. "Where is this going, Cal?"

"I want ya' ta' take a break. Go to bed, get some sleep. I can tell it's all gettin' to ya, this kidnappin'. So just… do me a favor and… _relax._ " His tone never shifted, laced with somber and neutrality as if he was a mildly sad robot. An recognized this as his _sad mayor_ tone he only ever used on his citizens when something went wrong but he had his own stuff to deal with, and now he was using it on her like she was one of those _locals_.

"I'm not leaving your side," she says sternly, stiff like a soldier saluting. Her responsibilities to Calvary were deep, even personal. She would not leave him in his time of need.

She didn't know if he noticed that she needed him just as much. She loved Kayla too. Not as much as him but they weren't the only ones who were close! Kayla looked up to her like an older sister, and An felt she could pass down her teachings, bred by the millions of mistakes she's made. Because Kayla was a fragment of a life An could have had were she not so incredibly fucked up. So she wanted to tailor her, craft a life of perfection An missed her chance at somewhere in Tundra Town. But that glimpse into a perfect life she wanted to help create for the bright young otter girl was gone under the haunting wings of the Carrion Killer, stolen from her before she could even realize what had happened.

"It won't be long, Liandra. Just give yourself some time." Her heart sank. He only calls her that when it's about business, her _job._

"Yes, sir." She nods in surrender. For now, this was what they had to be. She'd lose him then as he wallowed in his own sorrows, leaving her behind to do much the same. If only he knew how much better he made her feel, safely tucked under his wing as that protectorate figure peeks behind the pale wreck that he's slowly becoming. Perhaps she herself is not far behind.

And for a moment she believes she can find comfort in talking to Kayla about it, but she remembers quickly how that is suddenly impossible. Just yesterday she had talked about a boy she might like and now Kayla Rivers was gone.

She tries to meet Calvary's far away gaze as he looks onward at nothing, smiling bitterly when he doesn't even notice her.

In the end it would seem that Calvary was all she had, but there was little of him left in this room to have.

She wants to crack a joke, something highly inappropriate where he'd laugh at her after before scolding, but the words turn dry in her mouth and mute when before they reach her lips, leaving her to sit silently with a goofy smile that is all too obviously forced.

Perhaps in endeavoring to distract him she could distract herself, but it wasn't working. The splint in the middle of the room was a constant reminder of their failure. Kayla's scent still wafted over it, taunting her, sounds of that damnable crow cawing over that dreary night still echoing in her mind.

Being in this room was much less comforting than she thought it would be.

She gets up, ready to leave but she lingers still, hoping he'd regard her again. She says nothing when she feels herself giving up as she quietly makes her way to the door. But before she reaches for the knob, she turns to him. "Cal?"

She's desperate when their eyes finally meet, searching for some vestige of the man she turned her fears and woes to when things weren't going so well. A hint of it would be enough, something in the cracks of his self-pity and loathing.

When he looks at her, his response is almost immediate. "An?" The nickname rolls off his tongue so well it was as if it was made for him to say. Her heart sings, a playful smile finally edging along her lip, finding some pittance of solace at that bewildered look of his.

"Don't fall apart without me, alright big guy? Someone's gotta catch you."

He laughs. It troubles her that she can't tell if it's fake or not, but she chalks it up as some thankful fatigue. "I don't know what I'd do without ya', An." He smiles then, and she swears that if she was any closer, she'd have kissed him.

The door doesn't shut behind her because she stands in the doorway, meeting the glad looks of Nick and Judy, who have apparently made friends with that reporter girl. "Hey," An greets, "you guys here for the mayor?"

"Oh, not me," Gizelle says, backing up, "I'm just here to interview them." It wasn't fooling An, she knew she was here to interview the mayor but meeting the new super stars was a far better consolation.

"Rain check?" Judy suggests.

"Sure." Gizelle waves.

She walks off happily, something An is pleasantly surprised about. "What did you two do to her? I haven't seen her so happy since she met Terry."

It only takes them a moment to realize who she was talking about. "You call Kaenid ' _Terry'?_ " Nick asks.

"Yeah we – _oh shit!_ " She bolts off, leaving the two confused.

The door she'd been standing in slams in place, jolting them back to the task at hand, never minding the panicked wolf.

They enter Calvary's office, meeting a very surprised lion. "Nick, you're lookin' better. And here I thought you'd be out for a few more days."

"He's thick-headed," Judy jokes, earning her a smirk from her partner.

"I prefer the term: _resilient,_ " Nick adds.

Whatever fears Calvary had seemed to melt away. "Well, it's great ta' have ya' with us. You got me real worried last night but it's good to see you up and about now." He gestures for them to take the seats. "Now I know this ain't some social call just to show me you're alright. So what're ya' here for?"

"Sam told us that you headed the search party," Judy says, slightly apprehensive of bringing up Sam in front of him. "So we were wondering if you found anything."

"A recommendation from Miss Stripes? Thought I'd never see the day." He is as calm as ever, brimming with that air of confidence they weren't sure they would see again. And yet here he was much like himself despite the monumental loss… which struck them as incredibly odd.

"If nothing else, she's practical," Judy wanted to add _even if it is from you,_ but she knew that wouldn't sound very pleasant. But it was no less true. When Sam told them about it, they were surprised to see that there was no malice in her tone. Surprised even more when Calvary only laughed at it, as if in some relief.

"Well," Calvary began, "sorry to say, officers, but we got nuthin'. The night was fruitless on our end. Neither hind nor hair of Carrion, but An did find this splint." He moves it over to them with his claw, careful not to interrupt any evidence. "It's got a piece of Kayla's dress tied to it. Covered in her scent. Clearly made to lure her on a wild goose chase."

Nick inspects it, pulling it up with tweezers from his bag before sliding it into an evidence bag. "It doesn't look like much, but any evidence is good evidence."

"Yeah," Judy interjects, "it's almost too small to hold anything but hopefully we'll come up with something." Judy didn't want to say out loud how incredibly unlikely it was that the tiny shred of cloth held anything tangible for them, but perhaps by some miracle it might.

Looking back at him, they found that Calvary spared no hint of sorrow, not even once during this entire conversation. It was as if it was all business here, like he'd fallen fully into his position as mayor and forgot about the grieving man underneath. The walls he built around himself were harder than she thought he was capable of, because Judy could usually see beyond it but she was running on guesses, not observations. _Something's off…_

"Is everything alright, Calvary?" Judy asks.

"Right as rain." His smile seems genuine, which concerns, and even scares, her. It doesn't make sense that he'd be okay, no way was this man alright. But he seemed to be.

"I assume that was all, officers?" he continues, prompting them to nod. "Then I suppose that would be all? Not that I don't enjoy you're company but I'll be a busy man in a few hours and I'd appreciate all the relaxin' I can find."

Judy looks to Nick and hopes he sees how strange he's being but Nick makes no motion to affirm. He doesn't want Calvary to think they notice so he remains aloof. But the sideways glance and lopsided smile tells her that he sees it too. "We won't keep you then," he says, "thanks for the help."

Just as they are about to leave, the door swings open, a panicked Gizelle before them. The pie in her hand sends its scent steadily into the room, filling its walls with its aroma. Somewhere during their conversation earlier she had asked to see the pie itself. It seems that in her haste to leave, she had forgotten to give it back. They thank her before she timidly waves at the mayor before slinking away in a hurry, blushing wildly.

"That one o' Hectors?" he asks, sniffing it in the air as if it had entranced him.

"It is," Judy comments, "he asked us to bring it to you when you were free." He makes no move to try it when the place it before him.

"He says that it's from the both of them, sending their regards," Nick says, hoping to a glint of something else in Calvary's expression.

And he does. The lion's face saddens ever so slightly, clear in the way his smile stops being so bright.

"Kayla loved their pies. Loved everythin' they made, and all that they did. They even made her cake on 'er sweet sixteen…" He looked about to cry but steeled himself moments later, now only biting back bitterly. "I'll tell 'em myself how I appreciate it… Thank ya' for bringin' this ta' me."

Bidding their farewells, they finally made to leave as he stared at the pie, lost in some reverie. But he raises a hand to stop them just as they leave the room. "Just… one last thing. I meant it when I said I was bettin' all on you two and Sam. You're makin' headways, way I hear it, findin' definitive proof about who Carrion is and I… even though I wished you'd have found him before Kayla was taken away, I only hope that you find that bastard 'fore he takes anyone else." Suddenly his colors show, the shamble of a man underneath; trembling and near tears. "So I'm countin' on ya'. I swear on my own life that I'll do everythin' I can ta' help put Carrion away for good. My heart's bleedin', I know ya' can tell. So I'm beggin' ya, bottom o' my heart and with e'ery ounce o' my soul that's left, that you bring 'er back to us."

They had thought they had heard him wrong and would have hoped that they did. Perhaps they misunderstood something but it only took a moment's thought to figure out that they didn't. Calvary Pride, mayor of Bronc Town and its stoic protectorate against the shadow of the Carrion Killer, had fallen into a desperate hypocrisy. Because he was the one who said not to cling to feeble hopes, he was the one who told them not to live underneath the guise that it was all only kidnappings, to see this case for all that it was, all that it is, all that it will be.

But his request rung clear in their heads and hung dreadfully in the air even as they shut the door behind them. One look between them and they knew they shared the same fear: Calvary believed Kayla was still alive.

It was clear that he clung to feeble hopes, a dreadful hypocrisy, no longer the stoic man he was yesterday.


	8. The Whisper of Crows (pt. 2)

Having sprinted across the block, Liandra finally makes it to Catfrani, no longer caring that her own dress was probably ripped somewhere at this point. The door she quickly opens nearly slams against the wall, but she catches it frantically before it announces her in any way like yesterday. She scans the room, looking for that familiar tuft of stupid grey fur before finally meeting it in a booth in the corner of the room, playfully waving at her. She breathes a sigh of relief and ambles towards him, hoping to all the powers that exist that no one sees how happy she is to see him.

"Only twenty minutes late. Bravo, it's a new record!" Terence says aloud as Liandra sits across from him.

"Can it, Terry. I've been up all night," she sips at the cooled coffee on the table before gesturing for the waitress.

"Annie, please, you don't fool me," Kaenid says challengingly, "I doubt you even broke a sweat out there."

"That why you only bought one coffee?" She quickly meets the forced disinterested look of Carrie, of which she thankfully ignores before asking her to heat the coffee.

"Yeah, for you," Terence says, "I certainly don't need it."

"Show off," she scoffs.

"Don't give me that look. You of all people appreciate me for my stamina." He waves his eyebrows suggestively, causing her to chortle.

"Wipe that stupid look off your face, Terry! I swear you're never gonna bag anyone hotter than me if you keep that up."

"I could just settle for you. What are you doin' tonight?"

"Don't start with me. You know I'm not into anal." This earns her a look from Carrie who can't help but overhear. She blushes then, quickly hiding behind the counter, trying really hard not to hear any more. "Plus I'm not comfortable pretending to be something I'm not."

Terence is quiet for a moment, his grin turning straight, softer as if he means everything of what he is about to say. "I don't mean like that." It comes out almost like a plea, desperation tracing the edges of his words that makes Liandra Hunt, the vulgar queen of Bronc Town, blush like a school girl.

She barely knows how to respond, her heart jumping out of her chest in some sudden yet not entirely unpleasant elation. "Wha-?" Her shock is brimming, turning her into a mess of words before her gaze turns pointed and serious. She needs to know if he means it. "Terry. Terence. You can't possibly mean-"

"I do," he says quickly, eyes darting away then toward her. "I miss you. I'm allowed to do that, aren't I?"

A yes edges her lips, a want of yesteryear's escapades in the backseat of his car or in her kitchen pressed against the counter beckoned passions brewing like white hot fire. But it takes the door opening with a familiar chime to give her a singular moment of clarity to catch what he's doing. She still wants to say yes, even if it won't be for love. But casual sex with Terence Kaenid is not something she can bring herself to do anymore. "Terry, I know what you're doing. And I know how fucking amazing it would be, but you know I can't do that… we can't do that." He doesn't look surprised at her response, a dejected sigh leaving him. "You don't love me, Terry, you know that."

Perhaps he really did want to try loving her again but happenstance made it difficult to determine it for sure. But his eyes still meet hers, clung with hope for something between them. "Do you still love me?" he asks suddenly.

She isn't surprised by his question, asked herself it a million times when they broke up, and his voice asking it instead only made it clear that she didn't. "No, I don't… Look, we're a mess together, remember? And forcing this issue between us will just make things worse and…"

His hand finds her own, cupping them between his. "Annie…" He looks up at her then, meets her with a look of worry that breaks her heart because she knows why he does it. "I know you're hurting. I just want to be there for you. But I almost never see you cause you're cooped up in that office beside him. You're his soundboard but for the very same reasons he can't be yours… And that would have been fine if you kept coming to see me, let me share that monumental burden you've got on your shoulders. But you don't. More and more you've been by his side, and I can only assume that's why he hasn't gone insane because you've been taking care of him but… who's gonna take care of you?"

"I'm fine, Terry." She knows it's a lie, and she knows he sees it, but she wants him to say it, tell her straight that she's lying so she can stop trying to hide it.

"You're not. Not even Creed can handle this all on his own. That's why I'm here. To take care of you when you forget to do it for yourself." He leans back, hoping to see something in her change, a shift in her that tells him that he's gotten to her but she doesn't move.

He lets her go then, leaving her to mull over it. But just as his hands leave hers, she slides off the booth and stands up. For a brief moment he expects her to leave but instead she sits next to him, gently pushes him further in, then rests her head on his shoulder. "I just want you to know that I fucking hate you…" she says quietly, the vulgarity lost in her gentle tone.

He laughs, pulling out his arm so she can fall into his chest. "I fucking hate you too," he says before kissing her on the forehead, lacing his strong arms around hers.

"Cuddling, Terry? This is how you intend to comfort me in my time of need?" she teases, looking up at him challengingly.

"No, not really. I guess after everything I kinda miss this part."

"Yeah," she says, pressing against his chest, "me too."

Carrie finally arrives with her heated coffee. It would have arrived sooner but she didn't want to interrupt them. An casually thanks her for it, getting up from Terence for a sip. Terence himself is incredibly embarrassed for forgetting too quickly that they were in public and scratches the back of his head as he flashes the lynx an apologetic smile.

"So," An began, "was that all you wanted to talk about?"

He fiddles with the salt shaker, sliding it on the table between his hands. "Not really, just one of the more important ones," he says, no longer sheepish.

"One of them?" She raises a quizzical brow, putting down the coffee to give him her full attention. "What else did you need to tell me?"

"An," – he stops the salt shaker in one hand, eyes locked on it but not at her – "I'm leaving town for a day. I'm grabbing some equipment from Zootopia to improve the forensics lab here in Bronc Town. And I was thinking…" – he finally looks at her, drawing hard on her already intent attention – "…maybe you'd like to come along?"

"Terry, I can't just leave. I have a job to do here."

"One that'll tear you apart if you don't take some time to yourself. I know that Calvary needs you but you're no help to him if you're not all there. You need time to mourn, or just forget about the town for a while. You need to unwind before you start to feel worse."

She doesn't answer. She knows he's right but a lot can happen in even a single day off. Being out of town raises suspicion on top of leaving Calvary vulnerable. Not to mention the fact that another person would end up missing and that's hardly something that's acceptable to miss out on. But Kaenid clearly wants her to come, more for her own sake than anything else.

He can tell she's about to say no, it's clear in her body language that her resolve was failing, so he stops her before she can reply. "I don't need an answer now. It can be anywhere from here till I leave tomorrow at seven. Just… think about it, alright?"

She smiles at him, a response non-committal but it's enough for them not to breach the topic any longer.

It's then that Liandra complains about her encounter with Lady Munchies Mellivora and openly dejects about how she can't come up with a shittier nickname. Keen, the desk clerk at the Graze Hotel, had the grueling displeasure of introducing the two formally for the first time, and An could immediately tell that the woman is as insufferable from afar as she is up close, only this time it isn't just because she's as ugly as a truck and looking at her makes her wonder if the double-wide needs turn signals.

Kaenid, ever the voice of reason always felt the need to be impartial, even if he actually did hate Meridith, having made the uncomfortable acquaintance himself with a lot of one-sided flirting. "That's taking it too far, An. She isn't ugly."

"Stop being so damn nice and let me complain!"

She goes on and on about, and even goes as far as saying she's the most irritable thing to come into existence. Kaenid contests this, starting his own story about the money incompetent deputies on the force that he has to deal with.

He recounts how some of them thought it would be a great idea to turn the alleyway into a shooting range, wasting ammo and accidently shooting the janitor in the leg who happened to be there as he was taking out the trash. On top of that, the gunshots panicked locals as they feared a violent shooting.

Creed nearly fired them but there was a minimum requirement the law demands he have on staff and he was already pushing it. But it wasn't the only time Creed wanted to strangle a set of deputies. Kaenid then tells her about the time some deputies messed up at the junkyard.

"Lester worked for months stacking all that steel, was real proud of all his work too, told me about it the minute he was done. But in comes one of those idiots with a hacky sack and sees the tower of rusted steel and thinks that it'd be a great idea to climb it. His partner finds out and what does she do? Instead of acting as the voice of reason like a normal person, she joins him!" They were fortunate enough to have had Lester there to pull them off the tower before it collapsed. When it came down it flooded the once clear floor and buried the junkyard office.

"I heard about that. Cal said something about an accident at the junkyard."

"Accident is putting it lightly. Lester got a cut while trying to get them clear. Rust would have killed him too but Calvary paid for the tetanus shots and fixed up the office."

She gave him a look that spoke volumes of disbelief, the veritable what the fuck edging at her lips. "That's a little more than just stupidity, Terry," she says instead.

She'd been told about Calvary helping Lester out but he'd framed it like a donation. Of course Calvary was only looking out for her. Lester is a member of the hunting club like she is, and it was no surprise to her that he didn't want her to worry about him.

He'd tell her more. Pains about nearly setting one of the fields on fire because they wanted to test out fireworks for a festival, or the time they crashed a squad car into a thin slot in the river, basically clogging it and nearly ruined the ecosystem there. Hours pass and suddenly An forgot all of her own problems. She'd laugh at his expense and he'd take it willingly. He was here for her after all but Kaenid won't deny that much of himself was invested in this meeting too. She was a big part of his life and saying that she still wasn't somehow would end up being his biggest lie.

Three coffees and two plates of pancakes later, the pair notices the room emptying out enough to be out of earshot of everyone. Liandra normally didn't care if people heard her, God knows how bad her public integrity already was, but she'd rather not embarrass Terry any more than she already has. She'd only ever do this for him. She'd always be publicly vulgar with Kayla, who'd found her lack of tact refreshing, or Calvary when he wasn't constantly telling her to behave.

"I'm still horny as fuck, Terry," she says plainly.

Seeing as no one heard, Terence leaned in and whispered playfully. "We can go for a quickie in the alley."

"That's sweet of you but you got other tail to chase. Don't worry about me, alright? I'll find someone to bang." She'd been on a dry spell for months, which wasn't good for a woman who used to be sexually active seven days a week. But the quiet town that might as well have been basically catholic meant that no one good enough was willing to put out for a one night stand.

"What about Calvary?" Kaenid suggests suddenly.

"Pfft! He's too hung up on being mayor and all that to even think about his own libido."

"Bummer." He fiddles with his spoon, spinning it. "You two would have been great."

"I know! Even Kayla thought so but…" She wipes a tear she didn't know she had. "Aw, fuck."

He pulls her in then, letting her bury her face into his chest, but An wasn't really the crying sort so no more tears find her. Her arms lace around him, rubbing her eyes into his filthy uniform, staying there as she groans sadly. "Buh, feelings suck," she chortles looking up at his chin.

"Tell me about it."

The pair decides that it's about time they went back to do their jobs. So they leave their payment quickly at the register, barely meeting the embarrassed look of Carrie before hustling out of the diner.

Outside, An stares balefully at City Hall. The screams and panic of the night before return like an ocean of white noise, dulling her senses till she remembers the winds whirring passed her when she bolted into town, chasing Kayla's scent. The dark of the night hid the panicked crow, a testament to the Dead Horse urban legend. Her footfalls then felt heavy and weighted, bogging her down as fear raced through her in a vicious cascade, burning into her as she ran quickly in a panicked frenzy.

She leapt over fences, took shortcuts through the alleys, but she could never get close enough. Then she carefully followed the scent up a tree, meeting the soulless glare of the decoy crow, Kayla's dress tied to a splint over its leg. She nearly killed the damned bird when she found out, but instead cursed to the wind with all the anger and frustration that tore her apart. She wanted to cry, few measly tears passing her before stopping completely. She wasn't much of a crier, but she sure as hell wanted to be.

She wanted to collapse and feel all the pain at once before it absorbed her, but her steely resolve betrayed her. Then dawn came, pouring over the city as beautifully as it always did, and she cursed it too for mocking her. She dragged her feet back to City Hall, a silent atheist's prayer passing her lips as she hoped Calvary was doing better than her.

He wasn't.

It takes Kaenid stepping into her view to pull her from her memory. He waves a hand over her eyes, asking if she's still with him. "You alright there, Annie?"

"Uh… yeah." She shakes her head, shooting him a smile he easily sees through. She doesn't care if he doesn't believe it, she's just doing her best to make things comfortable anyway.

Kaenid's always been there for her, the only ex she's ever had that stuck around and had the decency to keep things as normal as he could. Even though she knew them breaking up would have been inevitable, knowing it would happen didn't make it any easier to deal with. But he was there, stuck around and made her feel comfortable again.

Before Calvary or Kayla, he was the one good thing she got right. She's more than thankful that she's still got him.

"Hey," she says as she flashes him a bright smile, one he knows is real, before hugging him. "Thanks for trying, Terry. It means a lot knowing that you still think of helping me out."

When she pulls back, he kisses her.

There is no passion behind it, the lash of his tongue moving too desperately for a spark. They want to feel something again but the taste is familiar and tells them too quickly that this familiar territory just wasn't going to work anymore.

When they pull back, she stares at his leveled eyes and bites a lip. "Anything?" she asks, almost forgetting to regret.

He sighs. "Nope…" he says quickly, much to her relief.

She laughs, playfully biting her lip this time. "You were really trying weren't you?" She crosses her arms, then nudges his shoulder with her own.

"I guess I've still had lingering thoughts about it. Maybe I just miss you in other ways." He shrugs.

This quietly excites her. "Hey, we'll hang out more often when all this is over. We'll crash at your place and watch movies naked again or something." To anyone else this would have sounded like an invitation to sleep with someone, but to them it was the most normal thing in the world.

The idea relaxes him, getting him just as excited. "Ugh, that sounds amazing! I'd love to get out of this damned uniform."

"I hear ya. Clothes are the worst."

And to anyone else, this would have been the last vestiges of a brewing sexual tension about to erupt, but to them it was the lasting solace they'd found in each other, bearing fruit and pressing them on despite the weight on their shoulders.

Because thinking of tomorrow was easier than thinking of today. And today that poisonous dread that tainted the air would not leave them. A scent, it would seem, that would last for days.

The Fyfly band was perhaps as far a stretch as Nick could go on a hunch, but Judy always trusted in Nick's instincts, even if he didn't himself. So they took it as a loose lead, checking their contacts and even Clawhauser's. They came up with nothing, only the whispers of a dead TV show maybe getting a second season. Of which Judy found incredibly strange for Nick to get excited about.

It took the surrendered groans of the pair to finally find their clue in the most unlikely place in town. Coming out of Catfrani for lunch, their dejected conversation caught the attention of Miss Avery, the elderly flower lady who just so happened to have a hint as to their whereabouts.

She had apparently been friends with their lead singer, a musk deer by the name of Suther Hicks. Back in those days, the boys had been regulars at her shop. Casey Cell, the guitarist, dragged them out there so he could flirt with one of her daughters, to which Miss Avery found incredibly amusing since the apple of his eye was her own little Riley Avery, who was, in fact, a lesbian.

Judy also thinks it's funny. Nick coughs cause he did the same thing when he was young.

"Oh they were fine young boys, if a little odd. But the poor souls were homeless aside from their van so I told them about my cottage up in the hills. I'd meant to go up and see them but they should be long gone by now."

"You really haven't seen the place in over twenty years?" Judy found it peculiar that a property she owns hasn't been touched in so many years.

"Too old for that, dearie. Look at me, these bones got old the minute I turned forty. The consequence of being a mother of five generations of Avery's. Consider yourselves lucky this old bag can even form complete sentences."

"What about your kids?" Nick asks the question that was buzzing around his partner's head.

"Oh they don't know it exists. It was supposed to be my little getaway but with Henry dying in war, I suddenly had little need to go out to it. My family's here so I stay. I did want to give it to my eldest, but she's busy being a lawyer in Zootopia. Plus I gave those boys my last key. The only other spare is with Henry and my husband's buried under his old tank."

Suddenly the two were very aware why the tank at the foot of town was named Henry, and wondered if those children playing on it were currently cursed or something.

"Do we have permission to break in?" Nick asks without thinking.

Judy elbows him, prompting his brain to register just what he'd suggested. Before he could apologize, however, Miss Avery was quick to respond. "Oh there's no need for that. I asked them to leave the key under the mat if they ever left but there's no guarantee it's there. Still, it should be enough for you two to see it for yourselves. If those boys are still there, do let me know. Even now I still worry about them."

She'd given them the directions before heading back inside. She began humming then, an obscure tune and song they are almost sure came from the band. It is followed by a sniff, threatening tears that might come. Perhaps remembering a simpler time, where her husband was alive or even Kayla, where the world didn't have Carrion, where those boys would play terrible music for her and she'd laugh and sing anyway. But the signs of tears never seem to go beyond the sniffling, turning jovial just as quickly.

Her daughter comes out to take her mother in but she stares in abject horror when her careless mother passes her by with that song in her heart. But it was not of disgust, but of fear, only growing when she sees the two famous officers behind her. It's then that she quickly ushers her mother in, doing her best to not make eye contact.

Nick and Judy found this suspicious. She was scared of something. Something about that band, but why on earth does seeing two officers make it worse?

"Did you see that?" Judy asks after they were alone in the Terrier.

"Yeah, I did." He starts the engine, hand absentmindedly gliding down the steering wheel. "What do you think she was afraid of?"

"I don't know," – she leans over to the window, catching one last glimpse of the panicked young badger – "but we should look into her later."

They drove off, passing the Horace Memorial and all its brimming glory. It was a symbol of town pride and bravery against adversity, burning in the autumn sun as it glowed almost golden. But where was that heroic bravery now? That exhuming pride? They were fearful that it died with Kayla.

But worse than that, how much longer till someone in town snaps? Calvary clearly was no longer himself and An seemed to hide her grief. And the townsfolk slogged about, dragging their feet in what seemed like a storm of depression.

But these thoughts are fleeting, worries for another time.

Passing through that long stretch of road out of town, they take a sharp right by the Welcome sign, driving over a wide trail of dirt they were surprised they hadn't noticed earlier. Their eyes were keen, sharper than most, but it eluded them behind the thick tree covering.

The dirt path was smooth, no bumps over it at all. It was indicative of constant use, a sign that someone kept coming here. Certainly it was the Fyfly band, who else would have kept coming here?

"Carrion?" was Judy's grim thought. If it were him, then the band is likely dead. Otherwise, they were still there, freeloading. But there was that distasteful hope that they were dead, that perhaps they would leave some clue to Carrion. Nick came to the same conclusion as well, but neither would dare speak of it.

They came upon a clearing in the forest, the thick trees easily covering sight of the cottage like a natrual wall. It seemed that this place was built to be hidden, cleverly so. The trees weren't grown side by side but were so closely packed that they covered anything behind them well enough. They had to hand it to Miss Avery, her husband certainly knew where to build a secret cottage.

"This should be it," Nick says as he parked the car by the property.

It was old but grandiose, standing tall and sturdy, a simple man's palace. It looked much like a suburban paradise rather than a rustic cottage. It seemed out of place, what with the stonework planters lining it with healthy ferns and orchids, the painted porch swing lone by the door way, and the carved front door with a Victorian motif to go with it. Though the colors were faded and the plants were slowly dying, it didn't take much to see what this place could have been in its prime.

The lack of the Fyfly van and no signs of recent use made it clear that the boys were long gone. And if so, the key would be waiting for them.

Nick approached the home steadily, feeling the first step creak under his weight, which honestly wasn't a lot. It should not have surprised him, really, but the place looked almost pristine! He'd forgotten that the place hadn't been tended to.

The polished wood of the porch felt and looked expensive to boot. He wondered what it would be like to own such a place. The businessman in him told him he could probably buy the place with a discount. If Miss Avery wasn't going to use it, maybe it wouldn't be too hard to take it off her hands.

Unlike much everything else, the welcome mat itself looked haphazard, filthy, certainly much less equipped to handle the elements. It was crudely made, with the rubber looking much like it was cut unevenly. He guessed that the Avery children made it, and the old couple couldn't help but put it here. Pulling it up gently, he quickly finds the key. With a foot holding it up, a gloved hand takes it, inspecting the iron. It hadn't seemed aged like everything else. For what it's worth, that floor mat kept it preserved.

A preserved key meant that the Fyfly band didn't even come back at any point, which was a little disappointing.

"Hey, Judes, I think–" She wasn't beside him. "Judy?"

He nearly panics until Judy calls out to him from behind the Terrier with the trunk open. "Over here, Nick."

Hopping off the porch, he makes his way to her as he pulls his glove off, placing the key inside. He finds her pulling out her rifle, adjusting the strap over her shoulder.

"Uh… what are you doing?"

"We can't be caught unarmed like last time, Nick."

He moves to make an argument but he stops, immediately taking his own holster and belt. His fingers find the magazines lined along it, and bites his lip. Suddenly his hand quickly pulls the pistol out, swiftly cocking it after. The motion felt natural, a sense of unsettling familiarity alongside its unfavorable necessity nestled deep into his bosom, clarity of its own kind, one filled with malice and distaste. "I don't like this," he says simply, scorning the weapon in his hand with feelings too colorful for words.

She feels much the same. The rifle strapped to her back was like a cross with its own burdens. She is not ignorant to its truth, nay its purpose. Because a weapon bares the intent to destroy, to snuff out a life or some semblance of it. But the burden of such a thing is unavoidable.

Marcus agreed with the idea, preached it for all that it was. He asked them to kill Carrion, masking it as a suggestion. When it came to it, would they really do that?

Questions, a hundred-thousand of them, ran through them in the blink of an eye. But they found no clarity asides from the clear symbol of belligerence they bare. And as they stare into the antiquated home before them, a picture of peace and the ideals of a simple life, they realize that the answers would have to wait.

Judy is ambivalent when Nick shows her the key, though she is certain that she would not know how to feel even if they hadn't found it.

The living room quickly opens to them, the Victorian style spanning the whole house alongside the carved designs that make it look like a walk into Halberian royalty. But what they immediately notice after intrigues them.

On the first landing of the staircase that overlooked the front door, the railings were broken. It seemed as if someone had fallen through it, but where the scrapped wood was, they didn't know. A quick inspection of the adjacent wall indicated that someone slammed into it headfirst if the loose hole under the wallpaper had anything to say about it. "Think they got drunk and got into some shenanigans?" Nick asks her.

"But the place looks relatively clean. I doubt a night of drunken swills would end up with a broken railing and nothing else. If they were intent on keeping this place the way they left it, they could have at least tried to fix it." She scanned the room, seeing no discarded bottles, not laid about trash. It was relatively spotless asides from the gathered dust.

"You suspecting foul play?"

"Inconclusive, but yes." She turned back to him, looking him up and down with suspicion. "Don't you?"

He shrugs. "I'm trying not to think about it. Besides, you're serious enough for the both of us."

She is quickly reminded that her partner is injured but doesn't seem to be showing any adverse effects. She turns to the scene and absentmindedly searches through it. "So, how's the injury?"

She tries to play it nonchalant, trying to mask her concern somehow. "You've checked those cushions twice now," he comments, giving her a knowing smirk that she shies away from, easily caught. "You worried about me, Carrots?"

"I'm allowed to do that, aren't I?"

"What's up, Judes? Why are you so worked up about it?"

She chews her lip, not wanting to lay bare her fears. She'd really rather not have him concerned with them, less he bring himself down. But his look is expectant, wanting an honest answer from the person he trusts the most. He trusts her not to be honest when need be, and she can't disappoint him. Not here. Not now. "I just… I don't want you thinking that I consider you a handicap or something. I want you to know that I still have faith in your abilities." Because she cherishes him and all that he is, treats his personal pride with quiet care even if it makes him insufferable.

And he sees this, observant on her body language and verbal cues, ever aware of how she's feeling. And being deftly aware of someone else's emotions is a testament to their partnership, one best not tarnished by hiding anything. Not on either end. Because he'd pretended like the bruise didn't hurt anymore, but that was a lie no matter how you cut it, and her pretending that she wasn't worried for the sake of his pride was also a lie.

So he lays a hand on her shoulder, down on one knee so their eyes are level. "Try not to worry about me, alright? It still stings when I touch it but after some coffee and some lunch, I can think again. So I'm good, Judes. I'm alright enough to watch your back, and I'm alright enough to work this case just as hard as you can."

Steadily she walks up to him and slaps her forehead to his chest before he hugs her. She sighs happily, content with his answer.

"You good?" he asks.

"Mhm."

"Good. Now I'll check upstairs and-" She tugs at his wrist.

"Nick, no splitting up, remember?"

"Oh," he says sheepishly. "Right."

The kitchen was everything he had hoped his would be. Everything from the polished marble counter, down to the polished wood cupboards were a glimpse into the home he'd want for himself. If he didn't want this place then, he certainly wanted it now.

"Judes, are you seeing this?"

"I'm seeing a crime scene, Nick."

Looking about, he realizes that she left when he was marveling at the room. He finds her quickly enough, seeing her pointed ears and the fur on her head peaking over the counter.

"What'd you find?"

She points at the dent in the counter's marble rim. Some of it was chipped off and even though they could have accredited it to age, the dent was too deep and the rest of it too clean to suggest there wasn't any force involved. "This was intentional." She caresses her fingers over the dent and notes its curvature. "This requires a thick skull to damage. That means it's either Casey Cell or Barry Whitman."

Miss Avery had told them all she knew about the band. Casey was the guitarist, a donkey whose hardiness could only be attributed to his species rather than his own self-made grit, and then there was Barry Whitman, the resident drummer. He was a hardy bull, a jock in his time and a hippie besides, whose soul spoke of peace with a pension for self-improvement.

Nick hopped onto the counter, spreading some of the accumulated dust. "Cover your nose." He swipes his tail over it, brushing it away from them.

With a final whip of his now dusty tail, he observes the countertop and grimaces at what he sees. The clear marble was scraped in two streaks that cut into it, a good several inches apart. What a shame to damage such good furniture. "We've got some scrapes here. Caused by horns by the looks of it. Looks like Barry's face was smashed into the counter."

"That could have been the first blow." Judy closely inspects the counter's side, brushing off some of the dust herself as she pinches her tiny nose. She too finds a scrape, a singular one that dug into one of the cupboards. "The straight dent suggests that he was struck again with his head on level with the counter."

Nick hops down to her side, standing back with her as they envision the scene. "So," he begins, "his face is smashed on the counter then tossed back off of it."

"He collapses against the counter here," she pats the cupboards behind her, "then he's taken by the horns then is swerved headfirst into the counter, horn clashing with a cupboard. It likely knocked him out if he didn't struggle anywhere else."

Nick makes his way to the adjacent fridge, opening it before immediately regretting his decision, nose twitching irritably at the invasive smell it gave off. Inside was expired food. Bread, fish, fruits and vegetables, all gone terribly, terribly bad.

"Nick, what's – Ew! Gross!" She winces, covering her nose.

"The fridge is stocked," he says through a pinched nose. "Our guys were here for the long haul." He then pulls out a knife from it, one of many that seemed to be haphazardly tossed inside. "And somebody tried to clean up the mess they made on the counter."

Much to her relief, he quickly shuts it then. "Guess there's no denying it," she says over grateful breath of air, "something bad happened here."

With a grateful breath of his own, Nick makes toward the doorway. "We should search the rest of the house. The railing breaking connotes weight. So that means that was Casey." Musk deers are too light for the kind of splinting that was left on the wood.

"So that leaves our vocalist: Suther Hicks."

They searched the first floor, finding nothing else. The rest of the rooms were clear, even the windows seemed untouched so there were no signs of forced entry there.

Then they made to search the second floor, seeing scraping caused by hooves on the first landing, settling without a doubt that it was Casey Cell who fell through the railing.

There was a guest bedroom upstairs, nothing remarkable in it other than a dusty old music box which was missing its ballerina. If it could still play music, it was certainly too late for now since Nick's curious crank of the machine had its own gears and springs erupt out of place in a metallic spray. Judy sighed exasperatedly. "Curious little fox shouldn't be touching anything he could potentially break."

"Sorry, mom," he punctuates sarcastically, "I wasn't aware the dingy old thing could handle my sheer manliness." He makes to flex, to which she laughs at. The old thing was going to break eventually anyway.

The next room was a little more eventful.

The master bedroom was a wreck from top to bottom. The bed's legs were collapsed on one end, the mirror on the vanity was shattered, its contents spilling towards the door where they stood, the dressers toppled, and the window broken. There was clearly a struggle here, but it wasn't completely one sided.

Inspecting the room, Judy was sure that Suther was the only bandmate here. "The attacks on Casey and Barry suggest that there was more than one assailant here. Two of them were tall and strong, able to take out a donkey and a bull. But here… it seemed like a couple of lighter guys went against Suther."

Carefully tip-toeing over the glass shards, Nick finds a comb on the floor beside the window. Suther, as Miss Avery described, had long hair he tied in a ponytail. It was every indication he was using this before he was found by whoever took him.

It was hard to tell what exactly happened, but the spine off a porcupine under the bed that Judy found told them that Suther fought back. Suther was kind of thin and pale, a man who looked fragile and malnourished all for the sake of being his band's face. But it meant that any one of these blows could have knocked him out, or worse.

Judy approached the vanity, eying the splints that tore through the glass. "Two assailants. Assuming that Suther was by the window, he managed to get one of them to slam into this mirror then slammed the other one against the bedpost." Two hooks could have sent two assailants careening away from him. Suther may not have looked it but he was certainly stronger than he seemed.

"That shouldn't have been enough to collapse the bed though," Nick reasoned.

He circled the bed. Alone on the dusty floor was a long tooth on the bedside where the legs collapsed. It could have been a wolf's, perhaps that of one of the assailants, but it was much more likely Suther's. The tusk-like fangs of musk deers are distinct in their length and minute width. "Looks like the guy who hit the mirror tackled him into the bed when Suther tried to escape."

Dizzy and in pain, Suther would have leaned over the foot of the bed from the impact. "I can't tell who but either one of them could have attacked him then, beat him against the bed till the leg came off along with his tooth."

Judy knew they were taken, no evidence indicated that they died inside the house. "The knives in the kitchen could have been used to kill Barry but they didn't."

"That means they were taken." Nick assumed that this kind of attack was some indication of what Calvary called the Carrion Cult. But they weren't the Carrion Killer. They left a mess and had no subtlety to them.

It sent a chill down his spine nonetheless. This town had dark secrets that were beyond the one serial killer.

The rest of the second floor had nothing more, only more cobwebs and dust that looked disconnected amidst the homestead's underlying beauty. But it was there that they found some solace in the brief passings, eying decorated guest rooms, a personal study, and a storage room filled with curios that Nick physically resisted taking. How a florist and a soldier could afford such a place was a mystery, but it only added to the wonder that hugged the once cozy home.

Once downstairs, they figured the backyard was the next logical step but they stopped at the door, both quickly noticing the broken knob. It didn't even click locked. "Here's our forced entry," Nick comments.

They carefully push the door open, the rough screech the old wood bares reminding them of horror clichés. But what they find is reminiscent of the same.

In the middle of the backyard, between an outhouse and a storage shed, amidst autumn leaves that layered the area with its burning red hues, was a black pole dug into the ground. It was out of place, clearly placed there by whoever took the band.

The closer they got to it, the more menacing it seemed, much like an obelisk with grim omens. A sinister chain came off its tip down into whatever's buried underneath the leaves, to which they tentatively brushed away.

Judy gasps. Nick winces.

They find the dried bones of what was clearly Suther Hicks lay face first against the ground. On his back was a harness, locked onto the chain in a cruel trap. His hands folded over his chest as if he had been clutching something, a dismal sign of life's last moments.

Then the wind whipped, tugging at the outhouse door beside them, revealing the titanic bone structure of Barry Whitman behind it. Judy approached it first, shaking her head at the cruel sight, especially when she finds the chains still locked around his large wrist bones.

Nick, with grave thoughts that crept eerily up his pointed fur, turned to the shed in ready horror. The crunch of the leaves beneath him never seemed so loud, echoing with in his mind amidst the autumn wind, thumping like his chest did.

The shed door was not locked like it should have, bearing the same signs of forced entry. What he finds behind the door does not surprise him, the chained bones of Casey Cell, the donkey skull collapsed into his own lap.

He found no words.

"His throat was slit," Judy calls out. She inspected the bones, noting how the arrangement suggested that he lurched forward against his chains. The powerful bull tugged and tugged, loosening the newly nailed in base of the chains, but it was too late. "He was angry, tugging at the chains to try and get out. Looks like he almost could have…" The fact that he died in this position suggested that he died quickly. His skull remained intact aside from the tiny fracturing from being bashed in the head. Stabbing him in the chest seemed too dangerous if he was actively flailing but an outstretched head trying to attack whatever locked him up made his neck an easy target.

Nick found the base of the chains with Casey were also loosened. It seemed that he too struggled, but his body is propped up against the wall, no longer outstretched. "Looks like Casey was trying to do the same… but I guess seeing Barry die made him scared." It snuffed out whatever bravery remained in him, robbing him of the last vestiges of fury, cowering as another came to kill him too.

"They could have just been killed all at once but it looks like they died one-by-one," Nick suggested as he went back to Judy.

She mulled over the thought. "Like a ritualistic killing but…"

"What is it, Judes?"

She kneels by Suther's bones, finding it strange how differently he died. "Suther's throat wasn't slit. Look at his rib," she points at one of them, and he can see that it has an indent, carved open by a knife. "He was stabbed in the chest."

They didn't know what made Suther so special, why he was singled out to die in another way, but it was a mystery they would solve eventually.

Judy pulls up her phone as she walks out of the way. "Terence, hey! Can you assemble a team that can keep a secret? We need to canvas a place we promised to keep hidden… Yeah… Yeah…"

Nick walked about the deer as his partner stayed on the phone.

Maybe there was something to him. Maybe because he so readily fought back? But that betrayed cultist mentality. Vengeance wasn't something they typically subscribe to, at least not when in ceremony. Well, only as far as he knew of them.

He shook his head. Maybe it was something else.

As his feet crunched over the leaves, an ignorable sensation under his padded soles, he suddenly found something soft. He curled his toes just to check and then he was quite certain he'd found something. He was a few feet in front of where Suther was facing and, stepping back, he brushed away the leaves to find another curio underneath.

He lifted it up, a maroon child's jacket, custom woven it seemed but dirtied over the years. It was partially in the dirt too so he whipped it to clean. The sound made Judy turn to him where his eyes met hers. Then her eyes went wide when she looked at the jacket's back, prompting Nick to do the same.

Perhaps the weathered cloth could have yielded no evidence, but for once luck had found them. Stitched into the back of it in cursive white thread was the name: "Marshal Hector."

~~~o0O0o~~~

Twelve years prior…

A fourteen-year-old and rather plump Marshal Hector speeds through the forest alone with a pair of plastic binoculars swinging around his neck. His hooved feet snap twigs along its way, relishing in the strength in his tiny legs. He is filled with exuberance, an ignorant soul tapped with adventure and youthful mysticism. A trait he is determined to carry on forever.

He bounds passed trees, dodging them as they came his way as he bubbles plane sounds in childish glee. The town was a place of conformity and rules that a protective father and a veritable plethora of teachers would scarce control his monumental energy. But here in the forest, the rules are gone where none can see him, most alive here than anywhere else, treading through the forest with abandon.

Then he stops as he traces the edge of an open valley, taking in the fresh scent of spring burning in his young soul. He stretches, feeling the energy in his stout muscles and bones, vibrating happily against the gentle sun as it sets his little hairs ablaze with its soft warmth.

Then he bolts again, trailing through the forest, leaving the valley behind.

In his mind he is a jet airplane, blazing through dangerous canyons as the Red Baron which is somehow fast enough to catch up to him is close behind. But as he banks into a hard turn, he baps his head against a tree, causing the boy to stumble and fall.

He rubs his sorehead, wincing at the pain.

He gets up, dusting off the sleeves of his favorite jacket. His mother had customized it for him but the blackened tarnishing seemed too difficult to wipe off, something she would be very unhappy about were she still alive.

"Sorry, ma," he mutters instinctively, imagining her pout but pat his head in quiet forgiveness. Karvina Hector was a symbol of the young boy's innocence, that which keeps his imagination alive. And as he stares up at her, imagining her there as she gives him a gentle smile, she gives him a soft pat that prompts him to go on.

So he does so, zooming away again toward whatever the forest hides.

He leaps over rocks and weaves passed trees, feels the rush of the air burrow deep into his young bones, as if it would be the last he'd feel it. But these desperate grasps for youth and its wonder break away when he hears the rush of trucks trail through the forest somewhere.

He follows the noise, peeking over the thick tree line to see a pair of trucks roll off a hidden dirt path and into the main road. He spies the license plates through his binoculars and, with a mind like his, remembers them. "0-7-T-H-J-0-2," he repeats to himself. "0-4-T-H-M-0-4," he says after, repeating both like chants until his mind locks them in, testing his incredible memory.

Then he steps onto the dirt path, surprised that he'd never found it before. He eyes it up and down, and wonders where it leads. Curiosity got the better of him, sending him down the path with a sense of adventure he is scarce to bubble against his pale pink cheeks.

What he finds at the end of it is a beautiful home, tucked away in the forest like a magical haven. The colors of it are bright, contrasting well with the planters and the lush green grass that stretches under his feet.

He does not approach the door, believing its residents had just left. It would have been wise to just turn away, sate his curiosity when its owners came home so he could ask if he could come in like a proper young lad, but he wants to see more.

On the porch, he peeks inside and finds the furniture in the living room, immaculate designs over the cushions drawing him in. He sits on the porch swing then, rowing himself back and forth and wonders what kind of family needs to hide away like this.

Chasing the thought away, he decides to get a better view from the back.

He hops down in what he believes is a thunderous stomp then bolts toward the back.

But then he sees a tall black spike jutting off the ground there, a chain linked to a harness on the back of a familiar musk deer.

Marshal was disturbed, if a little scared, approaching circling around the black spire as it seemed to stare back at him. But as he came before it, stared down at the pained deer from a few feet away, his fear melted into worry when he was finally sure of who it was. "Mister Hicks?"

The man gasped into the dirt, surprised to find another's voice reach him. He seemed to be jolted out of a deep sleep, raising his head to meet shapes and sounds that blurred underneath his sweat and tears. The throbbing in his head mimics the screams he can still hear roaring from his friends, and the bellowed chant of the cultist that attacked them. It makes him shudder, mouthing hoarse gasps as he tries to wake from the horrid nightmare.

Marshal takes off his jacket, approaching him slowly. "Mister Suther? You cold? Everythin' alright?" He wants to place it over him, trying to grant him some semblance of comfort for whatever pained him. He looked at the chain and thought it as a cruel prank by his bandmates. His innocent mind could not comprehend the truth, could not surmise it in all his ignorance.

So his approach stays, completely unaware of the corpses hanging in the dark just at the edge of his periphery.

"Imanidre Patre," Suther mumbles in response to some decadent prayer, recited over and over again by his attackers, now latched onto his mind as a grave reminder of the events that transpired. But nothing was more feasible than what he clutched to his chest.

He looks up to Marshal, the young and familiar face looking at him with fraught concern. His lip quivers, dares to speak, perhaps to beg for help. But his words are lost in the labyrinthine confines of his addled mind, spouting nonsense as he tries and fails to formulate words. And this frustrates him, morphing what words he managed to spit out into a cavalcade of whimpers and noises that got louder and louder.

When he screams he manages to further frighten the boy before him but Marshal stands his ground, now much more worried for the troubled man.

Suther rises from the ground, unfurling from his fetal position. His arms emerge from his chest like the uncoiled legs of a spider, thin and covered in dirt and grime, hints of blood tracing over them. And in his hand is a dagger, the very one used to slit the throats of his friends.

Marshal doesn't see it until the hilt is thrust into his grasp. He drops the jacket when Suther lunged, taking his hands so they grasp the dagger firmly, blade pointed over the deer's chest.

"What are you doin'!?" the young boy yelps, struggling under his surprisingly strong grip. He tugs and tugs but the deer is determined to keep him there, looking at Marshal with a look of desperation.

Suther tries to press the blade into his chest, but grits his teeth because he can't bring himself to do it.

"Cleanse yourself, sinner. Be the one to purge your body of the devil in your blood." These were the words spoken to him by the man who killed his friends, words now somehow immaculate and true, draining his anger in a desperate desire to end his pain. But Marshal doesn't budge, holding back resolutely, tears forming over his shut panicked eyes as he dares not to meet his gaze.

Suther's back burns with an uncomfortable pain. He was struck there over and over again, leaving it battered and bruised, so as he sits up, urging the boy to plunge the dagger into his chest, his back threatens to collapse him. "I'm a sinner! I'm a sinner!" he screams, burning his lungs as he manages to find words. "Just let me die! I'm a sinner!"

He tugs again, feeling the dagger's tip plunge lightly over his chest, drawing a vestige of blood. This excites him, makes him scream louder and fuller, begging to die.

Marshal does not hear his words, shuts off all his faculties in an attempt to disappear. But the tug of his grasp is all he feels underneath the tears and the sore pain over his joints, a reminder of the prevalent fear that carries over him.

But as he resists, his body begins to surrender, loosening his grip over the dagger with every tug until…

There is gasp that draws Marshal's eyes open, accompanied by the loosened grip over his wrists. To his horror, he finds that the dagger in his hands have plunged deep into Suther's chest. Blood spills over his arms as he steps back, the blade sliding out of Suther's body with an unnatural smoothness.

Suther collapses to the ground, clutching his chest. His body numbs, sensations leaving him as the pain vanishes in what he can only describe as serenity.

But Marshal backs away from the corpse in abject fear, finding that his grip on the dagger hadn't loosened, veritably locking him to it in a self-imposed vice grip.

Then he runs. All he can think to do is run home and find his daddy.

Pain burns into his skin as his entire body begs him to slow down, but he doesn't. He tears through the forest, clearing it as his heart seems to numb against aching pulses that surge over him like a particularly violent heartbeat.

The town is a welcome sight but he still doesn't stop to take a breath. Desperate and fearful, he runs toward Stable Village and toward his home. He spies the white picket fence accustomed to his house, then almost crashes into it when he forgets to slow down.

He stumbles out, heart suddenly burning in his chest as he fights a collapse that burrows deep into him. The town fades into obscurity as he sprints through it, trying to find home. He ignores onlookers and passersby, cars and concerned friends. Something else then seems to draw him home, forcing his aching legs to carry on despite the quake they feel over the cement floors.

He finds home then, earning him some semblance of relief. But he runs still, careening towards the door when he tries to run up the porch. He lands on the door and pushes it open, kneeling over the hardwood floor as he manages to catch his breath.

But then he feels an eerie presence loom over him, prompting him to get up and slam the door in a panic.

For a moment he believes he can relax but a loud thud coming from the kitchen jolts him alert again.

Dagger still in hand, he slowly makes his way there. His hold on the dagger is ironclad, ready to strike with some semblance of fury he does not know he has. But then he rounds the corner, and the dagger that seemed once glued to his palm falls quickly when he finds his father lying on his stomach over the floor.

He runs to his side, calling him back but the tiny breaths his father manages are the only signs of a response. Fumbling, little fingers panic over the phone as he calls for the ambulance. And even then he still somehow finds the strength to form complete sentences. The dispatcher congratulates him on his strength, but he says that he doesn't care about how strong he is, just that someone stronger can save his dad.

His uncle Raeger, the only other Hector in town, finds the boy before the police do. He does not question the dagger in the room, even kicks it away as he cradled the catatonic child.

When the ambulance arrived, the terrified young thing was ushered into a squad car by the sheriff himself who drove him after Marcus to the hospital.

Creed finds no need to worry about the boy. He sheds no tears and only appears dim and placid.

The large polar bear tries to comfort him, telling him it will all be alright, but he does not respond.

~~~o0O0o~~~

Marshal pulls out the dagger from his dresser. It is ceremonial, carved like the razored back of a beetle, shown in its obscure designs and jagged guard. For once there was dread that emanated through the blade, now there is nothing but memories, of a fear he long since has overcome.

"I've kept it since." He turns around to Nick and Judy, and passes it onto them in some immaculate fashion. "Kept it as a reminder of the strength I needed ta' have to protect what's left of my family."

"Uncle Raeger would die about a year later, by the hands o' Carrion 'imself. It's then that a young a boy like me finds the dagger again. A reminder of the trials I faced, and the pains I bore through to save my pa. Uncle's death felt like failure in that regard, but I was determined to never let it happen again."

"You're stronger than you look, Marshal," Nick says, more in surprise than comfort. What he says is consistent, and the dagger is proof enough, but what he expected to find was the quiet wreck of man who killed someone as a boy, instead he finds one who persevered through it, becoming a man who took every precaution to protect his family.

They noticed the weights in his room the minute they stepped in, the bench press bearing more weight than they've seen most larger mammals could ever manage. He spoke of strength beyond the emotional, to quite literally become a man who can defend all that he has left, an Adonis under a bashful, quiet soul.

"I suppose that it's only right that we give this back." Judy hands him back the tiny jacket, making him chuckle with a pleasant smile. Seeing his elation made it harder for Judy to want to ask but she couldn't leave anything to chance. "There's something I don't understand though, why didn't you tell the police?"

"I did. Just… not this one." He's embarrassed to say, but more than that, he's concerned, worried for something else. "Even back then, I knew the implications of a crimeless town suddenly findin' itself in the midst of a murder. So after hearin' all the stories about them super star detectives down in the ZPD, I called up their station off pa's phonebook and told 'em about the plate numbers. Way I understood it, they found a congregation of religious fanatics in the Rainforest District, condemnin' anyone they thought was doin' the devil's work. The week 'fore it, they were in Bronc Town to see our big ol' church, and saw Fyfly, makin' all their noise and thought it was the devil's music. That's how they found 'em, playin' one last song for us kids."

"Worst of it all was… me and the rest of 'em asked 'em to do that last show 'fore they left. I know I shouldn't blame myself for it, and I don't. I'm no fool. But I was scarce ta' believe my friends would share my resolve."

They could understand that, wanting to hide the pain of something horrid from someone you love. That's why they never tell their parents about how dangerous their job can be. But Nick found it strange that he held out all on his own. Especially as a boy, things like that do things to people. "So you didn't tell anyone?"

"Only Audrey; she's Miss Avery's daughter, down at the flower shop. You can ask her yerself', just tell 'er I sent ya, but she only knows as much I told 'er. We were an item for a while," he shrugs, "so I thought I could tell 'er. Sometimes I wish I didn't though. Part o' me oft' wonders if we'd still been a thing if I didn't. What I did spooked her, and I don't blame her for it. I was just a constant reminder o' somethin' lost."

He takes a candle off the shelf, rolled in his hand as the old wax smoothed over his fingers. "Held a… vigil for 'em. Most of 'em thought we did it ta' honor the memories, o' them… bringin' us together. And it was, but… to me an' Audrey? Was more than just that." Because what they lost was more than just a set of friends and role models, it was the innocence of their childhood, snatched away by fanatics who thought they could kill in some twisted reverence of the lord. Marshal would damn them all to hell, curse them for using his God to justify murder. But the anger subsided, softened as all he really cares about now is the present, and perhaps the aching soul of Audrey Avery.

"Couldn't bring myself to bury them. I was just a boy who stayed home to watch his pa. But it wasn't long till the town found somethin' else to haunt me with. When Carrion rolled in and took my uncle, suddenly Pa was all the family I had left."

They came there looking for any clue as to who killed Suther Hicks, but instead they found the person he used as an excuse to kill himself. They wouldn't say it, judging from the story it was clear that Suther didn't want to live any more after what he'd seen. They don't know what the cultists told them, but leaving him with the dagger made it clear that, after everything they wanted him to take his own life.

In the end it was just a dead end, a wild goose chase that only told them they were nowhere closer to find Carrion. But they knew it was stretch, but at least now they can properly bury the band. That was somehow the only comfort they could find in this.

Not much else was needed to be asked. They even told Marshal that it wasn't necessary to speak to Audrey themselves.

They told them that they'd still need to take in the dagger to compare against the cut in Suther's rib.

"I don't need it," he responds. "It's a reminder o' strength and, nowadays, I don't need remindin'."

Holding another weapon made Nick uncomfortable, so he hands it to Judy who rolls her eyes at him. They thank Marshal for his time, but he replies hesitantly, as if he still had a thought for them rolling around in his head. They chose to ignore it, confident that he'd tell them if it was important. But just as they're about to leave, he stops them.

"What did pa tell ya? When he… delivered the pie. He said ya' saw 'im there."

That was not what they were expecting. Judy was sure he had something more pertinent but… then she remembered what Marcus had asked of them. "Oh, nothing, really. Just a bit of praise for Calvary." She didn't want to open that particular can of worms, hoping that denial would suffice, tacked with a lie even Nick would believe but Marshal clearly wasn't buying it.

He doesn't meet their gaze when he finally says it out loud. "He asked ya' ta' kill Carrion, didn't he?"

Even though Nick could understand why the Hectors would be so adamant, he could not fathom being the one to pull the trigger. Killing someone just felt wrong, a betrayal to everything he stood for. "Marshal, I'm sorry but we can't just kill Carrion." The word left an unsavory taste in Nick's mouth, making him wince. It didn't help that he was now holding a dagger, another damn weapon.

But Marshal's gaze was apologetic, tinted afterward with desperation as he breathed a hefty sigh. Marshal is beside himself, unsure if he should even continue, because what he asks of them is that they take up a monumental burden, to save the town beyond catching a killer. It is a call beyond the line of duty, an act of mercy that might very well destroy them. But does he even have the right to ask for such a sacrifice?

"It's a little more complicated than that," Marshal says finally, eying the window and town stretched across the horizon. "See… behind the smiles, the festivals, monthly sales, them big ballroom parties, the lot of it, it's all hidin' more than just sadness and grief. It's hidin' somethin' worse, the devil's work." His gaze is pointed, fearful of the truth the town doesn't even know about itself. "Tell ya the truth, more than anythin' else, folk here are angry, furious. I'm ashamed ta' say that I'm no different, and you've seen it yerselves, neither is Pa."

"And though he may hide it under a guise o' redemption, Pa sees more than just that, just like I do." He finally meets their gaze, and it's clear they still don't yet understand what he's implying. Bless their souls, they're innocent. But he knows he can't leave things be, can't let the rock lie before it falls over them. They need to know it's there, they need to know what needs to be done and why.

He takes an uneasy breath, quivering down his throat and loosed jaw. "When ya' find 'im, you'll find yerselves with a pair o' two double-edged swords. One where you kill 'im, where ya'll have to bear the burden of someone's death on your shoulders and maybe have your integrity as officers questioned by the ZPD, or… the other one." He pauses, apprehension rallying down his throat as he fights to admit the truth. "Where… where you hand 'im over to local law enforcement… where he'll meet Calvary, where he will end up condemnin' this town."

"You mean Carrion?" Nick asks. The idea slowly forms in his head but he still yet doesn't understand and, looking at Judy, finds that she is no different.

"No," he says slowly, almost painfully, shaking his head, "no… I mean Calvary. The mayor."

The officers exchange glances, then looks to Marshal, more confused than they were before. "I don't understand, Marshal," Judy says, "how would Calvary condemn the town?"

"'Fore I tell ya', just know that I mean no disrespect… He kept Bronc Town from turnin' inta' a ghost town, that's why he's mayor. He made sure this town kept breathin', made sure it didn't go crazy from collapse. He's the reason why we're still put together, why, after everythin', we're still whole. But you know what happened last night. After Kayla… I know for a fact that the minute he meets Carrion, he'll go crazy, try ta' kill 'im. This town's already on edge and I don't have ta' tell ya' that if Calvary goes mad, so does the rest of the town. And the aftermath o' that will do more damage than a hundred killins'…"

Perhaps it was clear then but Marshal doesn't stop, shaking and wincing, trying to hold back something terrible, something grave. But then Judy sees it, the twinge over his lip, the curve that she swears is almost a smile.

Then he continues, clutching at his chest and leaning against the wall as he tries to keep stable. "Cause we'll cut 'im ta' ribbons, make 'im feel every ounce of pain we felt." Suddenly he's angry, billowing low and deep where his quaking fingers bare all the fury. "We'll do it long into the night, hours and hours o' torture, and we'll do it long after he's dead. And just when we're done, we'll toss his bones in the river, and feed his meat to the crows in some twisted irony." He pauses gasping as the baring of his teeth look almost like a heinous grin, mixed with uncertainty and a fear that this rapture is taken with savage glee. "And it'll feel good…" he says after a gasp that ends in a frail whimper. "It'll feel just…" He tries not to scream, the taint of some bygone hatred poisoning his soul. "And it'll feel right."

They see him shatter, that strength he'd built converted into a rage he only barely manages to hold off. Is the town really this corrupted on the inside? Did all that holding back, all that denial, really poison the town with so much pent up hate?

Marshal wants to stop but the message isn't as clear as he needs it to be. He fights for composure but the thought of his dead uncle, the death of little Kayla Rivers, and Old Monty, call back a fury that needs to be understood. And needs to be feared. "And when it's all over, when the blood on our hands have dried, this town will have a secret darker than an uncatchable serial killer still at large. The demon in this town will no longer have one unfamiliar face, but have many faces, familiar faces, and it will all be in the mirror." For a brief moment he sees his reflection in their eyes, sees himself seething and collapse, but he doesn't care.

He quickly takes the dagger in Nick's hand, clutches it firmly like Suther once did and looks him straight in the eye. He is met with fear, but not for what he does, but for what he is asking them to do, a request he feels he has no right to ask but asks anyway. He then takes Judy's, leveling their hands over the dagger together. "I'm askin' ya ta' take this burden from us," he says, much more calm this time but hitched with desperation, his very eyes doing all the begging. "Find the strength to put. him. down." He punctuates as he shakes the dagger, the grip still heavy and strong. "Cause if ya'll don't, we will. And we don't have an ounce o' mercy left in us. So fer' his sake and ours… I sincerely hope ya'll will."

He steps back, leaning against the window. His message is sent, evident in the shock and horror they bare. He tells himself that doing this may have very well condemned them, but it will save the town instead. He doesn't yet know if they have the strength to even do it but the consequences of anything otherwise will be grave.

No more words pass between them, the pair only slinking away.

Down the hall, just out of earshot, Nick speaks. "That was…"

"I know, right?" she responds quietly, leaning against him, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding. It comes out like a squeak in her suddenly dry throat, of which Nick laughs at.

Her pointed glare relieves him somewhat, but his laughter dies quickly when he looks her in the eye. Then he turns away. "Do you… do you think we can do it?"

"I don't know, Nick." She leans against him, silently begging not to answer.

Perhaps it was wrong to even consider it. It was basically murder after all, but they could see the implications otherwise already in a lot of the townsfolk they met today. Calvary's sudden denial and hypocrisy, Miss Avery's slight sniffling that comes from buried fears, the clear dread and ire of both the Hectors. Carrion was more than just a demon that haunted the town, it was a plague, and that monster left scars that ran deep, disfiguring it.

Would it really be so wrong to save them from this burden? To go against everything they knew and kill someone? Though it was a question for another day, something they could only even consider once they knew who it was, but it seemed too pressing, deciding how this ends. And perhaps the thought of it ending at all was, on its own, an already big enough question.

Down the stairs off toward the front door was the Savory bakery, where they find Marcus busying himself with a large brick oven. They greet him sheepishly, and his jovial response makes them shrink.

"I'm so sorry that this is how we ended up having to show up at your bakery," Judy says apologetically. "I swear we intended to come here off-duty."

"Think nuthin' of it," he replies, taking a fresh set of chiffon cakes from his oven. "Just uh… might I rest assured knowin' that my son is cleared o' any charges?"

"Don't worry about it, Marcus. Like we suspected, your boy's no criminal," Nick says, "but you've got a strong one there, stronger than most. Kinda… passionate."

"Isn't he?" Marcus laughs his hearty laugh, setting his cakes aside he dusts off the flour and slips off his mittens. "I'm so damn proud o' my boy but… sometimes I worry he gets too disconnected. Always seems like his mind is always on the bigger picture, forgettin' the now way too often." I'll say. "Huh. Look at me ramblin'. Now why don't you two go ahead take a pair o' my chiffon cakes? On the house if you're cravin' it."

"Oh, we'd love to but I don't think this counts as a proper visit. We swear we'll come by again." Judy nods to Nick, who readily agrees. Nick wouldn't usually turn down anything with that kind of alluring aroma, but Judy was right. He'd have to hold back until next time, perhaps on more leisurely terms.

He laughs, strong and hardy like he always does. "I'll hold ya' to it then."

The pair takes a closer whiff of his baked goods when they pass the counter. "It smells incredible though," Judy comments, tempted to retake Marcus's offer.

"Ha! It's all thanks to my brick oven. Set with high heats, adaptive systems for both gas and lumber burnin', adjustable shelves for multi-cookin', or bakin' the largest cake this side o' Zootopia, and even exhaust systems that suck in gas when the lid's open for safety or blows out all the loose leftovers and kindlin' up the chimney." The thing was large, tall enough to need a step ladder to grab the top and wide enough take up nearly half the wall it sat in. At first glance it looked like a needlessly large display case you can see from the storefront. That alongside the evident smokestack, it certainly draws very well attention to itself. "It's Victory branded, for all yer' cookin' needs!"

Judy laughs. "You make it sound like you're advertising it."

"Yeah, Marcus, you sponsored or something?"

"Ha!" he responds. "I wish! Maybe then I wouldn't have just the one branch. No, my wife, Karvina – bless her soul – just saw it in a catalog and thought we could use it when our old ovens kept breakin' down. Nowadays this one keeps us afloat, been with us for as long as we can remember."

The pair almost makes to apologize for having him mentioned his late wife, but he laughs it off like he always does, quickly telling them that the thing is a memoir of a chapter in his life, one that he remembers fondly. Grief for his wife has long since passed, and all he has now is pleasant memories of her. "I tell ya', sometimes when I'm lyin' in bed, I can still feel 'er with me there."

He then sends them off, urging them to continue working, to save the town.

When they approach the door it nearly slams into them as the wheezing badger from earlier, Audrey Avery herself, stumbles in and gasps.

"Oh, um… Officers! Uh…!" She regards them too loudly, making her blush furiously and cover her own mouth. The poor girl only just summoned the courage to come over and talk to Marshal and yet here she was a bumbling mess, losing all her courage in front them.

They guess she's here to speak to Marshal, perhaps to see if the two had talked to him about the Fyfly band. Though the memory surely stung her, it was clear to them that she was much more concerned with Marshal himself. "Don't worry," Judy comforts. "Everything's fine. Marshal is alright. He's upstairs."

Her eyes go wide, smiling uncontrollably in some relief. "He… he is? Oh, thank you!" She bolts passed them, waving at Marcus who heartily laughs in return.

Once outside, Nick fumbles with the keys as they approach the Austin. "Think they're getting back together?"

"Wanna bet, Fox Boy?" she replies as huskily as she can.

Whether or not she pulled it off didn't matter, it still worked on him. "Please stop calling me that."

As they settle in their car, Judy spies Marshal through the window, embracing Audrey. He chances a kiss on her forehead, causing her to nuzzle his chest. As stoic as Marshal is, Audrey seems to have enough tears for the both of them, even if it is for joy.

"Do you have any childhood friends you miss?" Nick asks suddenly, having apparently spied them too after leaning to the windshield.

"If you don't count my family, I don't really have anyone. I mostly served as a role model to some of them. They kept looking up at me like I was some myth come to life but no one really looked at me like a person, you know?" Nick could understand that. After hearing all those stories of her life there, it would seem like she'd turn into a bit of a celebrity, beating the odds being the hero everyone doubted she would become. But even as a little girl she'd prove them wrong. "When we all grew up, we kind of drifted apart. Those that stayed in town didn't even say goodbye when I moved to Zootopia."

"I'd say it's a sad story if it didn't mean I get to keep you all to myself."

"Oh, shut up!" she laughs, punching him in the shoulder.

Nick starts the car, finding a certain resolve fill him as he eyes his bubbling partner. "Kind of a shame that was a dead end but I guess I was expecting it to be anyway."

"At least we managed to help someone out."

"We got a little more than that…" Nick rounds the corner, a slight swerve he attributes to the still minute pain in the back of his head. "Was the tradeoff really worth it?"

"If Marshal and Audrey get back together, I can call it a good day's work." Judy's excuse reaches him faintly, but he's looking for any excuse really. So he shrugs and takes it for all its worth. "But I hope everyone else found more than we did today."

Judy turns around to catch one last glimpse of the Savory bakery. She wonders if it was always such a jolly looking place, or if the fresh paint and pleasant attitude came only as a front over the quiet suffering of the Hectors.

They know the facts. Raeger Hector was a construction worker who often got incredibly drunk. He was hardly a contributing member of society but he was nowhere near the mess Calvary once was. If nothing else, he was a man of family, often getting into fights with his brother's rival bakery: Kayman's, and no one else. But despite a history of mild violence, he was a relatively well received man. No one really had an issue with him, which meant that his kidnapping turned up with only one suspect: the Kayman's head baker, Rios du'Tion, which was immediately disproven when it turned out he was at the Autumn Festival preparing his booth.

Though there was some mild speculation that he simply skipped town, the successive kidnappings made it all too clear they were all connected.

But these were the facts, words on paper that did not tell of the suffering of those involved. Nick and Judy almost didn't want to come here for that very reason, because there was a particular quality to the kidnapping and probable murder of Raeger Hector, that it was the first.

The Hectors endured the shadow of the Carrion Killer longer than anyone else, felt his icy grip over them for longer than anyone else did. Knowing that should have meant that they were likely the most plagued but it never really showed. Yes, they were angry, but it seems that all of the town was. Instead, what was prevalent was the tenacity the town seemed to bare, an innate obstinance and outright refusal to be brought down, and it seemed to have begun with them.

If Calvary and Kayla were the bulwark of the town's stability, then it seemed that the Hectors were its foundation. And that's what scared them.

Because if the foundation breaks, then all of it comes crashing down. Without Kayla, the town already threatened to collapse, and with Calvary losing himself, it was more and more clear that the town was heading nowhere good, fast. If they can't catch Carrion in time, then the town might very well spiral out of control, perpetuating what seemed like Carrion's encroaching curse.

And that, that would end up being the greatest failure in ZPD history.

Amidst that imagined chaos, and that madness that comes with it, Nick and Judy worry that perhaps that is what breaks them. And worse, if that is what finally tears them apart.


	9. The Whisper of Crows (pt. 3)

The station seemed to be experiencing its own sort of bedlam. Deputies ran frantically about, perhaps experiencing actual _work_ for the very first time. And Nick would sympathize, because _work_ was oh so very dreadful.

They sped about, bumping into each other and equipment half the time. "They're like mole rats in a tunnel, smacking into everything half the time, and rubbing each other by accident for the rest of it."

Judy groaned, taking the lead to the briefing room. "Nick, please, they don't do that."

"Nope, they totally do." He gestures to punctuate, nearly toppling a precarious stack of paper that leaned dangerously over him.

"How would you know?" She yelps when an apologetic lemur crashes into her leg.

"I worked with one in a mine once." He gently nudges a frantic koala out of the way of an equally frantic chimp who had apparently lost control of the floor buffer, screaming as he zooms passed them.

She quickly tugs the wire of the buffer, turning it off much to everyone's relief. "Nick, I don't think those were accidents."

He stops. "…oh."

Ignoring the uncomfortable chill down his spine, Nick presses on, but he notices Judy's ears twitch as she winces. "What's wrong, Carrots?"

"When we meet Creed, you'll know right away."

When they near the door with the plaque "Briefing Room" Nick could hear the muffled screams from behind it. It was offset by the noise of the room they were in but Nick's senses were tuned to this sort of thing, attributed to his days of conning and thus eavesdropping, but right now he wishes he didn't do it so well, and Judy wishes she was born with the skill.

Pushing the door open, they are greeted with the indignant wailings of Sheriff Creed. "It's three **bloody** PM and you're telling me you lost someone you were basically _staring at?_ "

The little meerkat deputy nodded frantically, trying her best not to upset Creed further. "I'm really sorry, Sheriff, I—"

He motions to silence her. "It's not your fault," he says quickly, leaving the deputy completely confused rather than scared. "Go, leave us. We've much to discuss." He is suddenly not angry, which sets everyone in the room at ease. That is until the door shuts again and Creed flips a chair angrily.

"If this is a copycat killer, he's a good one. So I want to find every evidence to debunk this theory, because if it is _true_ we are dealing with someone **monumentally** worse than the original Carrion." He paces before the whiteboard, rubbing at his temples. "It took him about thirty kidnappings to earn the confidence to pull off one in sodding _daylight_ , and this one did it in _four._ "

He continues rambling to the room, of which the pair recognizes as the team Kaenid brought with him to Miss Avery's cottage. Maybe these are the people he trusts, the competent deputies under Creed's belt.

Judy spots Kaenid himself sitting on one end of a desk that was pushed up against the wall. She hops up next to him, catching his attention. "Who was taken?" she whispers.

"Sigurd Mason, camel, one of the deputies. The meerkat, Rita Malone, was his temporary partner. She lost him in the market of all places, crowded and full of people and no one saw him disappear."

"A deputy, you say?" Nick comments, hopping up to sit with them. "Sounds like the kind of thing that'd spook the rest of this station."

Kaenid bites a lip, unsure how he should feel. "It's actually gotten a lot of them to actually do some work. One of them passed around some rumor that Carrion took him cause he was being lazy. The only good thing to come out of their big mouths and it _still_ manages to somehow be a bad thing."

It seems that everyone else is trying to do their best not to regard Sigurd's disappearance too exclusively. Despite not knowing him very well, no one ever likes losing one of their own. And if anyone felt strongly about his disappearance, no one was saying it.

"Terence," Creed calls. "Give me something good." He snaps his finger, his old mind trying to remember what to ask. "Miss Hunt's property. Was there _anything_ there?"

He doesn't want to disappoint his mentor but he has to give him the report. "We searched her home. No other weapons that chamber a 308 beyond the ones the detectives already debunked. Deputy Suther Reese," he motions to his partner leaning against the table, "is our resident gun enthusiast and he can confirm that."

Creed sighs. "However glad I am that Liandra isn't a suspect, I won't lie when I say that having some sort of lead would make me less… _tense._ " He massages the bridge of his snout, trying to ease back his frustrations.

He turns to Nick and Judy, and motions to them. "What about you two, what did you find?"

Nick rolls his wrist, not too keen on disappointing Creed either. "A different murder already solved by another precinct. All we came up with is bodies that were long overdue for a burial."

"I suppose that's some consolation." He then scans the room, and nods to some passing thought. "Knowledge of the Fyfly band's death must not leave this room, understood? Lord knows what will happen to their fans that hear about them. Especially now with all this madness going about."

Creed then points to an old panda, twiddling his thumbs mindlessly. "Lee, what do we have on the cloths you received."

The panda shrugged embarrassed. "Nothing, really. We can only determine the one found on Mr. Kidd's property was part of a sweater. As for the splint and dress… we can determine nothing until Kaenid brings us the equipment from Zootopia."

Creed's displeased sigh and dismissive tone makes everyone go silent. He falls into a seat, running a hand through his fur.

Then an aged rhino raises his hand. He is clearly one of the veterans, if the scar off the side of his horn is any indication. "I think we should look into Calvary. Out of all the potential suspects, he's the only one that really stands out."

Out of everyone, Kaenid is the one that stands, an incredulous look to him at the accusation. "We can't do that! Calvary's a good man. Need I remind everyone that he's been keeping this town from falling apart?"

"Calm down, kid," the rhino replies coolly, "I'm merely suggesting that we investigate him. We're much more likely to debunk his involvement anyway. I'd just rather we make that clear as soon as possible."

"We shouldn't be getting our personal feelings involved," Sam says suddenly, apparently having been against the far wall the entire time. "We should remain objective, because anyone and everyone is a suspect. So it must remain imperative that our personal sentiments not cloud our judgment. It should not be a facet in determining whether or not someone is guilty." She looks to Creed who is more than just a little proud that she's come out of her own prejudice.

Terence seems to accept it and backs down, sitting himself back up, embarrassed for his outburst.

Creed then regards the rhino. "Javan, look into your theory with discretion, I'd rather not earn Calvary's ire in any sense of the word."

A bored looking arctic fox peeks through the door, squinted eyes staring up at the polar bear from across the room. "Sheriff Creed?"

Creed is visibly displeased, his previous irritations coming back quickly at the sight of her. "Yes, Nietly?" he responds with some exasperation. "Is it about my _deputies_ again?"

She nods once. "Yes, sir. Yes it is."

"Then leave it bloody well alone!" he shouts, prompting her to shrug then leave the room. He ambles over to Terence who fixes him with a pointed gaze.

"Terence, from now on, I want all bad news that isn't related to this. case. channeled through _you._ I do not want to hear any more complaints about my deputies if I can help it. Because if I hear about one more _incompetency,_ I swear I will bloody **shoot one of them!** "

Terence nods calmly.

Sam, who emerges from the opposite wall, places a gentle hand over Creed's shoulder. He manages to calm himself down, nodding silently at her. Creed makes for the door, spouting a leveled "dismissed!" before they all pour out of the room.

Sam quickly greets them, apparently quite glad that Judy stuck to wearing the shawl.

Nick and Judy then remain in the room after it had cleared. They swing their feet over the desk, unsure of what to make of what just happened. "Looks like we got our work cut out for us, eh, Carrots?"

"I'll say. I didn't know Sheriff Creed even _gets_ mad, much less like this."

"I'm really just surprised Sam could calm him down like that. Almost like Calvary does with An."

"Looks like those two have more in common than they're willing to admit."

"Judy?" Liz Waterdale peeks over the opened doors to spy them. She waves at them. "Hey, guys." She walks over apprehensively, chewing her lip. "Could I, maybe, talk to Judy for a sec?"

The bunny looks to her partner and all he does is give her an affirming shrug.

She nods before taking the otter out the doorway.

Now alone in the slightly dim room, Nick decides to mull over the case. Moving to the middle of the room, he finds the whiteboard with a calendar drawn on it, post-it notes naming the victim or victims of their respective days.

Emerging from the shadows is a dark towering figure, the powerful stable gait of a black puma whose piercing eyes relay nothing of how he feels or who he is. His presence is unfelt, moving quietly as if a ghost, a specter in the dim room eying the fox with his soulless gaze.

"Come to admire your work?" he speaks quietly with an even tone that is almost robotic in nature, monotone and unnerving.

Nick nearly jumps when he hears him as he steps beside him. He looks up at him contemplatively, perhaps trying to decipher his character, but he gives up when he finds nothing.

"Are you talking about the post-it notes?" He thumbs toward the whiteboard. "Your life must be _real_ exciting." His sarcastic tone is evident but it does not move him, his visage unfazed.

"I meant about your progress, John," he says slowly, eyes gravely dim and stoic.

There is a steady thrum in his chest, an abject fear that only seeds in him but does not grow. "That's… not my name," he says unsteadily, heart pounding in his chest as if he was caught.

There is only a hint of expression under his tone and the momentary scrunch of his eyes, a crack in his static persona. "It was… when you came to town all those years ago with your old pal: Lorenzo Valentino."

Nick pauses. Wondering how he could have possibly known but then Nick shakes his head. Regardless of how, what matters is that he already knows. He can't just deny it, he'll just have to speak the truth. "Look, I left that life behind. I'm not a con man anymore. I went straight, I'm clean!"

"And now you're a cop?" The quizzical brow Nick expects never comes. The air about the puma is stagnant, threatening, causing all of Nick's senses to go alert. The way his words slowly roll off his tongue makes him all the more unsettling.

"I'm scarce to believe that," the puma says. "You could have picked _any_ profession. A businessman, a manager, public relations, anything that could have suited your talents, and yet you roll back into towns saying you're a… cop? You see, that doesn't make sense. What cop ever gets hired, or even gets accepted into the academy with a criminal record? That doesn't happen. Ever. I can only guess that you used that silver tongue of yours to get where you are. It is how you get everything you want, isn't it, John?"

Nick's fears melt when he takes an aggressive stance, eying him with scrutiny. Now the man's pushing buttons he shouldn't, basically accusing him of not earning what he has. What he had to endure to become a man of the law certainly isn't going to be criticized by a no-name deputy. "And just who are _you_ supposed to be?"

"Rostetler Rundi, the man whose wife you stole."

 _Now what's he going on about now?_ "Hey, pal, I didn't touch any woman while I was here!" Nick waves his hands defensively, trying to ease what he feels is some uncomfortable tension.

"Maybe not back then." He moves to the white board and Nick's heart stops, the picture forming clearly in his head even before Rostetler points to a post-it note with the name Elira Rundi. "But two days ago, ring any bells?"

"Wait a minute! You think I'm _Carrion!?_ " Nick barely contains himself at this point. Being accused of murder certainly was not what he was expecting to happen at all. It's so out of left field that Nick barely has time to think about it. But he's sure that even if he did, there was certainly no real way to rationalize it.

The puma looks him down, presenting himself aggressively, a walled-off anger somewhere beneath his pointed features. "I think you're a lot of things, John: Liar. Thief. _Snake._ Who's to say that you aren't also a murderer?"

The man was clearly grieving the loss of his wife but to turn to Nick and accuse him of murder was, simply put, absolutely crazy. It was insane to think so, but the man walked in with all the confidence in the world, a kind that spooked Nick, looking like a man with a mission. But now he looked like nothing but a deranged lunatic spouting exposition for the sake of his fractured sanity. "Look, I don't know what kind of loony bin you came out of, but it's clear that you should probably check yourself back in."

He doesn't respond, delighting in some twisted satisfaction for irking him. "Heh. Good night, John."

He passes Nick by toward the exit with that same unflinching gait, and Nick finds himself positively seething at the idea that this man is allowed to continue being crazy. "That's **not** my name."

The puma stops, turning to Nick in a look so menacing, tightening his features like a beast ready to pounce, that Nick almost forgets to be angry. And the way he continues to speak calmly does nothing to earn Nick back any confidence. "I remember it as the name of he who took everything away from me. So it can only be _yours._ "

When the puma opens the doors to leave, Nick realizes that he had silently shut them behind him. Though his hearing was nowhere near as acute as Judy's, it was certainly better than most, and he didn't even notice him shut the door.

Rostetler was cautious, enigmatic, and in control of his emotions (if not his mind). It was a dangerous combination to have, stacked with what seemed like an ingrained madness that was, worst of all, pointed at him.

He peeks over the door and spots him speaking to a few deputies, calming them down with what he believes is a silver tongue of his own. He doesn't spot Nick, clearly not as observant as he is, but Nick still finds reason to be wary.

But then he sighs. Nick takes his sentiments and accusations with a twinge of diluted consideration, knowing full well that the man is clearly out of his mind and thus should be forgiven in his time of grief. But then a thought occurs to him, laced with concern for his own safety, or perhaps even for Judy's.

The man he just spoke to, when he finally stepped into the light, had wrinkles and scars over him, tokens of age, seniority. And if a man of station believed Nick was the killer, then a room full of reckless, dependent deputies would quickly fall behind him if he made the right nudge; especially if it meant rallying them against Creed and, consequently, his sense of reason.

The way the deputies revere him is no comforting sight.

Suddenly he feels small, surrounded by danger where there was supposed to be a sense of security. His instincts told him to look out for him, and he certainly wasn't going to ignore sound advice.

Judy's sigh catches his attention when she leans against the adjacent wall.

Nick decides to bury his concerns, perhaps for later tonight when they head home. "Judes?" He rests a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to push into him and into the privacy of the briefing room.

She rests her head against his chest, bopping it against his ribs over and over in idle frustration. "Liz… ugh, Liz wants us to look into the Sheriff and Kaenid."

"Why is that?"

She folds out her hands in irritation. "She has some _crazy_ theory that either one of them or both are Carrion. That Creed's time with the mafia makes him a prime suspect and that Kaenid is his apprentice in more than just forensics."

Nick had to hand it to her, Liz certainly had an unbiased perspective. "It'd be absurd if it didn't make sense somehow."

"Exactly why I'm worried. More and more it looks like we can't trust anyone but each other." She leans her back against his chest, letting him fold his arms over her.

"I don't know, Judes, that doesn't really sound like a bad thing to me." It should have come out snide, a little flirtatious even, but it comes off as worrisome with a hint of dread. Judy catches on but doesn't make any note of it, settling with nuzzling against his chest.

There is comfort here still, locked away in a quiet room where all the chaos of the town stops at the door. But they know this solace is ephemeral, wilting in the wind like a flickering candle, but they dared to grasp for it anyway. And perhaps that was enough for them, some semblance of clarity after all they'd already been through.

But the weight on their hearts felt oh so very heavy, and the world so dark. But in what seemed like a machine for chaos, the butterfly effect of a town soon to go mad, there was an inkling of something else billowing beneath them, cresting sullen lips upward in a guilty smile.

Small comforts, it seemed, were what kept them going.

So when the two look into each other in that dimly lit room, far away from the world and its bedlam, a brief thought passes them, one that relays some far-gone glee that utterly betrays their circumstance. It is a simple thought, one that most feel but few even act on. An innocent thought, one often wondered by the two as an escape from the world around them, desperate to remember times simpler and kinder. One that is both out of place, and somehow exactly where it needs to be.

_If a kiss could take their fears away._

* * *

An struggles with the meaning of many things. Love, hate, religion, purpose, all of which are mysteries that are portent of what one considers an adult, a signifier for maturity – which is yet another term she struggles to understand. But the kind of woman she is demands that such questions are actually rather unimportant, that the real question isn't about the big picture or what a thing is or isn't.

Pertinence is a token for the individual after all, not the masses.

So when she stands at Calvary's door against everyone's _'better'_ judgment, she mulls over the speech she wants to give him.

Even Kaenid thought that breaching the topic of Calvary's grief would come too soon if she came tonight. But she knew him better than most, and she was well aware that he needed to face his denial for what it was instead of prattling about it. But overcoming his drinking problem took the continued persistence of an adorable little girl, two qualities that An clearly was not.

But as a woman – a woman he turns to – perhaps that will be enough.

The door is always locked but she always has the key, ridding him of any consistent privacy, but she doesn't care, and neither does he. In a way his door is always open to her, which leaves the key in her hand with more significance than she is willing to admit.

The soft click announces her to the room as she slowly pushes it open.

She first hears the sound of a thickened bottle rolled over wood, a sound that is familiar, of a time in Calvary's life that would have disappointed Kayla. When she sees him sitting on his sofa, rolling the base of a full wine bottle over the table, she is visibly disappointed. "You're drinking again, Cal."

His eyes do not regard her, watching the bottle with a half-lidded gaze that meanders between indifference and melancholy.

"It's not wine, An." He slides the bottle over to her, her deft hands catching it at the edge of the table.

The cork is loose, easy to pull out with hands alone, and when she does, the dark liquid underneath smells of nothing. "It's water."

She tosses it back to him, him quickly catching it with both hands. "Was a gift from Kayla from way back when. Pulled it out of her dad's wine cellar, drained it of all that expensive wine, then filled it with water." He chuckles under his breath, bemused by the thought. "It was a reminder of who I was, the old me that I conquered. A trophy worthy of such a triumph." And a memoir of who he failed.

An barely understood how to comfort anyone, which was one of the reasons why she and Calvary were fast friends in their formative years. He had no baggage, didn't have a care in the world, whilst her boyfriends had feelings that were altogether too serious and all the girls seemed too caught up in their own drama. But who was she to judge when, as an adult, she suddenly had feelings of her own, worries and pains she couldn't possibly keep to herself.

But that didn't make comforting anyone any easier, it only reminded her of her own inability to function as a normal person. Because she was terrible with words and any kind of serious emotion, making her feel useless in front of him.

"Ugh, feelings _suck._ " She catches herself frightfully when she realizes she said that out loud.

"Don't they?" he responds, much to her surprise. "Troublesome things, they are." He laughs "Makes a man wish he could drink again, huh?"

"Fuck yeah, it does." She leans back, much more comfortable somehow, wagging her tail suddenly, chancing that his elation is real rather than a front for his fears.

She wants to drink too, be she can't for the same reasons. Kayla made her promise not to influence Calvary, which evidently had her stop. She didn't have a problem with alcohol like he did but Kayla feared that the mere sight of it could tempt him.

She was wrong of course. Calvary's resolve was built because of her, and stayed for that reason. Staving off alcohol actually stopped being an issue because he did it for her. But An? She would say she did it for her too, and perhaps that was true, but she was only _really_ sure she did it for him, to join him in sobriety and all the suffering that came with it.

"Ya' know," he says quietly, looking at her over his shoulder, "you don't have ta' go dry for me. I ain't stoppin' ya if you feel like forgettin' everythin' that's happened. Lord knows I only wish I could do the same."

She kicks up her feet, scoffing at him playfully. "Nah, I'm good, Cal. I promised you I'd stick with it, so I will."

"Bless your soul, An."

She taps her cheek. "Hmm… I think I lost that to a choir boy in eighth grade."

His face twists in confusion. "A… what?"

The blur of the memory is littered with other conquests, other relationships she'd rather forget. But this one fell into the background, unremarkable and even a little strange, but somehow it wasn't wiped from her, not something she told herself never to remember until necessary. "I could be wrong. Coulda been that one goth I dated. I swear he thought he was a vampire or something."

"An, that was me. The choir boy, _and_ the goth. And we didn't date, I took ya' to prom. Nuthin' else." He opens his mouth, baring his fangs as he points at them, "And these were just somethin' you kept talkin' about."

"Oh, shit, right! I must've been so out of it then…" Calvary was almost sure she was drunk or on another random drug back then. "Ooh! Remember that time they took off your robe thing and they saw the tattoos on your arms!?"

"Heh, Father Gregory nearly fainted. Poor old man thought I was possessed."

She wasn't absolutely certain if she pictured it or lived it. "Was I there for that? I could almost swear I was."

He almost looks hurt what with the way he looks shocked at her, but it's a fleeting thing, gone in the next moment when he raises an eyebrow instead. "You were. Misses Hunt still didn't know what religion to follow so her first trip to the St. Lucille's _Church of the Immaculate,_ " – he rolls his hands sarcastically – "had her draggin' ya alongside 'er ta' that _one church your friend goes to._ " His impression of her mother is terrible. Or accurate. She isn't admitting to either.

 _That is a lot of very specific details._ "How the fuck do you remember all this and not me?"

"Ya took my virginity that night, An, didn't think I'd forget any detail of it." Suddenly that pained look he gave her made sense.

"Oh wow. Really?" It doesn't occur to her that his very first time with a girl was forgotten by the other party. Instead she sheepishly looks at him and asks "so... was I good?"

His look would have been incredulous were he not laughing at her expense. "Liandra Claudette Hunt, blushin' like a school girl. Between this an' Sam considerin' me a respectable source, I'm afraid I've just about seen everything."

She wasn't insecure about a lot of things, for the most part she didn't care, but somehow this was. It was a chapter in her life where she was still trying to figure out who she was and that led to many embarrassing moments in her life that she'd much rather forget and him not settling her fears bothered her. "Answer the damn question ya dumb cat!"

"You were terrible, and so was I. We didn't finish and ended up passin' out on my sofa."

"The fuck? I can't remember a time I was terrible at sex. You sure it was me?"

"Unless Misses Hunt has a second daughter with the same full grey fur and a pointless record for _boys kissed,_ then I'm more than just a little sure." She glares at him, he promised to never bring up that list ever again but he does it anyway. With a huff, he leans back next to her, nudging her. "'Sides, it wasn't your fault. We were tired but decided to do it anyway."

Her eyes went wide. "Oh my god, did this have anything to do with milk?"

"That's the one."

"We poured expired milk all over someone's car that night…" She giggles quietly. "That was awesome…"

"Of all the things that happened, ya' only remember the prank?"

 _I could make it up to you,_ was her imagined response. She wanted to say it, feeling it edge at her lips so desperately, but never passes them, locked between grit teeth and a wall of restraint. Because flirting with Calvary meant screwing up the last stable thing she had in her life. Terry's always on the job and the hunting club has their respective families. Calvary on the other hand isn't ever too busy for her, making time because he was the boss.

So her lips tighten, much to his confusion, as she mouths a quiet, "I'm sorry." She then tries to laugh it off, coming off choked which scares him but then he thinks it's funny.

Then he laughs, and then she laughs for real. She forgets to be sad and perhaps he does too, suddenly finding herself in a position of familiar comfort, of days curled up by his sofa, tossing darts at his thin wall where the TV used to be before his parents sold it.

She nudges him with her shoulder, watches his smile and begs the world and what powers there be that it was a genuine smile. "Hey, I'm here for you."

He flicks her nose, a call back to youthful irritations and secret code words, of passing fancies and collective stupidity, and hating the world whilst tucked between the cushions. And this reminds her that he hasn't forgotten what's important, despite everything, fortified a phrase she barely remembers, but has taken to heart its meaning. "I can always count on you, An."

He'd said those words at pivotal moments in her life.

First was when her uncle was babysitting her while her parents were away. The sleazy wolf was dealing in illegal drugs and brought his friends with him to muck up the house. When she threatened to call the police, he smacked her and told her to stay outside. She couldn't stop him and she was sure that when her parents came back, he would only blame her. Out on the sidewalk she considered running away, to the heart of Zootopia where that motto rung like a mantra in her ears. But these were impulsive machinations of a troubled young girl, thoughts forgotten when Calvary walked up to her with a benign and embarrassing request, that she join him as his plus one to a triple date his friends had planned. She'd accept of course, not knowing why it made her so happy at the time.

Another was when she failed too many classes in college and drank herself to sleep that night. She had just woken up from a hangover when he knocked on her door. Even when she basically tore it open, he still managed to smile her frustrations away when he asked her to help him study. Even though she didn't graduate that year, he did, and with her help to boot. She'd finish schooling on the summer that followed, one that he happily sat through with her.

Again he'd say it when she was about to lose her job at Iced. She'd nearly beaten a patron to death who tried to cop a feel with her. She didn't know it was the son of the CEO of some big shot company. Though, admittedly, she'd have beaten him up either way. He'd come to her that night, telling her he needed a right hand for when he'd run for mayor. He'd turn her into his head of security, a fulfilling job where she was her own boss unless he expressly had something to say about it. He'd said he was cashing in a favor, unaware of how he'd saved her.

In times where she felt most useless, he would come to her with an ignorant request, where he'd be completely unaware of her feelings of inadequacy and turned it around. And it made her feel important.

That was the difference between him and Kaenid. Because Terence never needed help, and Calvary always had something for her to do to make her feel like she's contributing.

She doesn't know if he's aware of what he does to her, or if she constantly finds herself feeling useless. She certainly felt useless this morning when she came back to Calvary basically empty handed. But even then he spoke some variation of the comforting phrase and she could tell herself that she didn't let him down.

Though Calvary back then was just a passing acquaintance, a friend she found on obscure occasions, he would later evolve into something else. A foothold in unstable territory, a bedrock she could fall on and still feel like she hasn't fallen too far.

And to her amazement, that same man looked at her with a reverence and awe that made her feel like she was more than just some fucked up wolf from a no-named neighborhood from some backwater high school.

He'd changed when he started drinking, turning into something else, a man unperturbed by the world, a token of the carelessness and tranquility she struggled to find herself. Then he became a saint, a man who bore the weight of a town on his shoulders. And it would seem that when she found him again, she was the one in awe.

And a man like that trusted someone like her, tasking her with the safety of his town, a town that she at first did not love. For all intents and purposes, she did not stick to her job for the town. She hated her first few weeks here, loathed every minute, hated every morning. Beautiful vistas did not captivate her, no country valley, or freshly baked goods were ever going to keep her in a southern farmer's town. But she stayed for him, and later for Kayla, and no one else.

She is scarce to say it was love, a word she barely understands, instead calling it purpose. And, perhaps, to her, that was for the better. Her emotions are fickle and confusing, fleeting and pointless. So she chases them away and settles with what she already has.

They'd talk for hours, reminiscing about a time long gone and, perhaps, some best long forgotten. And when the night drew late and came near to a close, the stroke of midnight that told her it was time to go home rang through City Hall's own clock.

"I should get going, Cal." She pats him on the shoulder.

He places his hand over hers for only a moment. He doesn't say a word, giving her a sad smile that begs her not to go just yet. "Good night, Cal," she says.

But as she rolls her eyes playfully and walks off toward the door, he feels himself wanting something he shouldn't, the sway of her hips calls to him in some forbidden allure. He follows that sway, stands to trail the path of her tail until he is behind her at the door.

She lays a gentle hand over the knob, wonders briefly what he wants. If she had any doubts, they were chased away as he gently gripped her waist, firm in his strong yet tentative grasp as his fingers trace a gentle caress over her stomach. "I'm not gonna last the night without you..." he whispers, craning over her as she breathes hot and low.

It felt like the edge of some dangerous precipice, a plunge that was too far gone, asking far too much, but he dared to leap, desperate for warmth and comfort in someone who would not recognize it as weakness.

Instead of opening the door, she locks it, one hand over the length of his arm, urging it as it glided over her stomach while the other hand pulled behind her, brushed tenuously over his pectoral, upward toward his neck then his snout. "Don't worry, big guy," she kisses his neck from underneath, "I'll make you forget."

That was enough for him to push on. The turn of her waist means that she wants to face him, but he doesn't let her. Instead his fingers dip beneath her belt, not even bothering to undo it, where his large fingers splay over her nethers, gently rubbing her lower lips, making her gasp. "C-Cal…!"

She whimpers and writhes underneath him, biting her finger as she presses against the door. Her cheek is flush against the wood as he works her down there, making her quiver under his touch in whimpers she'd never let anyone else hear, not even Terry.

Because Kaenid treated her with equal measure, but Calvary needed to dominate. It was the kind of man he'd grown to be, one that took charge, but he was one who favored service, a far cry from the nervous kitten he was all those years ago. And it excited her, made her want it more and more when he made it about her and no longer about him. She was his escape, the shaking, panting mess that she was, because he didn't need release, just needed to feel hers.

His other hand pulled under her shirt, tracing fire over her waist then belly, further still till it stopped underneath her bosom. Her buttoned shirt was in the way, and she pulled a weary hand down to undo them, but he reacts quicker, wilder, almost furiously so as he grunts and pulls out his hand with force, ripping out the buttons. When he finds a breast, the growl he makes pours hotly over her chest. He presses further into her, reaching down as he pumps the wide tantalizing finger in and out of her dripping sex.

His calloused fingers trace over her sensitive teat then, him relishing in how erect she is right now. It makes him covet her, cradle her roughly, making as much of his warmth find her as he possibly can.

She can finally feel him then, where his bulging erection presses firmly behind her, pressed against her soft cheeks. She grinds against him in response, moving in motion with his finger inside her, earning another grunt as he bares his teeth.

"Cal I'm –" she whimpers, "– I'm close."

He stops and for a moment, pulling out of her as she feels empty and all too aroused to capably contain herself. But then he tugs down her pants before lifting her up, her head near the ceiling with her back against the wall, his hands becoming her seat as his snout finds her damp sex. He inhales sharply, the scent of her doing irretrievable things to him.

It isn't long until his tongue finds her but only at the surface, tasting her dripping nether lips with a kiss hotter than she expected, but it isn't what she wants.

She hates that he's teasing her, makes her want to pull him into her already but she doesn't. There is still a semblance of restraint in her, one that holds back the most dangerous part of her.

And then she finds that sweet relief when his tongue decides to take that plunge, swirling inside her walls as the rough texture mingles with her more sensitive insides, churning her with a familiar ferocity, one that is distinctly him, morphed into this wild animal just for her.

She thrusts into him, feels his tongue undulate and thicken in a wave at her entrance before licking deeper, the tip so dangerously close to her womb. She hears footsteps somewhere at the other end of the door, the jangling of keys distinctly identifying Rocco, the head custodian. He comes to Calvary's room to clean at this hour, but she wasn't willing to stop now just so he can whiten a damn toilet.

She hadn't a shred of decency left as far as her arousal was concerned, so she screams, moaning Calvary's name as she tugs at his thin mane to pull him into her. She finds some guilty satisfaction when she hears Rocco yelp and drop his mop. The wallaby could just take the night off.

If Calvary heard it, he certainly didn't care, eating her out with an energy to match her rising tempo. She wants to grab his head, to tug him there, and he seems to sense her want, pressing her into the wall as he audibly suckles her alongside her ministrations.

Her hands then find the wall, clawing into them as she screams. Climax comes so close, sending sensations through her body that drop heavy and strong, thundering and loud in her pulsating sex. Then she closes around his tongue, whimpering loudly as she cums, pouring her juices down his throat.

He tastes her as she heaves heated breaths over his mane, curling into him as she drops from the wall and into his arms. Cradled in his arms, she kisses him, tasting herself and him, mixing in that desperate passion in ways that felt wrong and right all at the same time.

From her perch at his waist, she pulls back luring him toward the bed on ministrations alone. He follows swiftly, dropping her on its side in a soft thud. She closes her eyes for what she feels is only a moment, letting her chest rise and fall with every passing breath. When she cracks open her eye he is naked in front of her, the toned muscle of his chest and arms over her, casting a shadow that snakes and tingles her skin in the wake of her blooming desires. Her legs spread then when she finds his erection full where their waists meet, but he only rubs against her, teasing her again.

"Damn it – ngh! – Cal…!" She gasps as he rubs up against her, veritably thrashing on the inside.

His body crests over her as his hand follows suit over her leg, up the side of her waist, over the sensitive flesh of her breasts and erect nipple at its tip. He stays there for a moment, suckling at the exposed flesh as he licks on and around it, prompting her to tug at his mane again. Then he feathers kisses over her collarbone, over her neck, then her cheek.

It's then that he looks at her, sees the abandon in her eyes as the once daunting visage she once bore like an unbreakable mantle melts into the sweet desperate want of the young wolf he made love to all those years ago. That night was one of fulfillment but largely shadowed with a lack of satisfaction, but tonight he would make it right, tonight he would finish what he started.

His shaft prods her entrance, teasing it one last time as he grinds lightly over her. As she makes to complain again, he takes that final dive, into her loosened walls that notably contract around him. For a moment he takes the time to admire the sensation, pressed against her womb as she grunts and wriggles in an attempt ease into this hardy girth. He is already large for a lion, much more with her as a wolf just over half his height.

His penetration nearly cracks the wall in her mind, baring her claws and teeth as Calvary leans down to her, sliding his arms underneath so he can take her. Her claws prod at his back then, and her teeth ghost over his shoulder and pounds over and over again. The moans she elicits morphs into screams once again, but she never teeters off the edge, forcing her claws and teeth to retract.

His pace is slowed, painfully so, and she can hear him steady his breathing, making sounds that are only almost words. She can hear his heartbeat from here, thrumming like her own, in an undulation that only reminds her of the slow pounding in her loins.

"Stop holdin' back," he whispers to her suddenly, "I need to feel every facet, every part o' ya'… Even when it hurts. _Especially_ when it hurts."

Between a shortness of her own breath, she struggles to find words of her own. "No," she begins with, hoping it's enough for him to just keep going and not ask her loosen her restraints. But he doesn't accept it, caressing the fur on her back as he still slowly pumps into her.

"An…" he whispers again, begging her to let go.

"I… can't. I'll hurt you, Cal," she says quietly.

Then he suckles her neck, exciting her. Draws a hand to her clit, which makes her scream. Then he whispers again, somewhere between a plea and a demand. "I don't care."

He pounds into her faster then, his ministrations sending an explosion of lust through her body with every pound and meaty squelch. It's enough to careen her out of her own awareness, involuntarily baring her claws and teeth, biting into his flesh.

Her claws are never blunt, her teeth never dull, because she doesn't like not having them ready, doesn't like being unarmed somehow, and he knows it. He knows of the scars she left on Kaenid, and remembers the ones she left on him, buried underneath his fur, smoothened out nay indiscernible as he grew, but here he was again, begging for those scars. Because he wants her for all of her, and all the danger that comes with it.

She curses him for making her do this, even feels the hint of damp blood over her fingers, but he doesn't care, pounding into her as she feels a climax near release in her loins. He feels much the same, relishing in the light cut along his back, arching over her as his knees dig into the sheets, finding speeds he knows means the peak of his orgasm.

He pulls out for longer now, slower but forceful as he plunges his entire length into her with each thrust, steadying himself and her as he curves a hand over her rear. He knows she's close, feels her quivering underneath him, writhing as her claws dig deeper till it stings. He gauges her want, desperately trying to match it to end the way he needs it to.

One final scream and the twitch in her legs signals her climax, that sweet release as she erupts over his girth. He plunges one last time then, meeting her inside as his own juices mixes with hers. She feels him pulsing inside of her, spurt after spurt as he roars like the king he is.

He clenches a fist at her side, feeling the last ounces of him leave his softening member till it's all in her. She's dripping now, so full of him that she swears she'd end up pregnant were he a wolf himself.

She is adrift then, feels her body glow with his warm body pressed over it, relaxing with steady heartbeats that she swears are in sync now like a movie cliché. _You believe the things you want when you're in love, huh?_

Her hands slip off his back as she rests them beside herself, prompting him to pull off of her, casting a shadow against the light, setting his mane ablaze in her eyes. But then she feels the dampness trickle from her claw and over her finger. Pulling it into view between them, she gasps at the sight his blood. "Cal I—"

Then his tongue trails over the finger, licking up the blood as it presses precariously over her claw. He can taste the razor edge and smiles over it, letting his tongue glide over till it comes off with a flick. "I'll have you know, Hunt. I don't give a damn. Long as it's you, I'll want it all for what it is."

She wants to kiss him, wants to pour out her heart and soul and tell him she loves him and a thousand and one other clichés. But instead she laughs, and finds the irresistible need to poke fun at him. "Pfft! That was your blood, Cal. That was gross."

He rolls his eyes, pulling her with him as they collapse over the pillows, the sheets falling over them in a tug.

She stares into his emerald eyes, sees the elation that chased away his fears and his doubts. She knows what they feel is temporary, that looming glow over their bodies will be forgotten come morning, so they cling to it for as long as they can, for all that it was.

An wonders what this means, if it meant anything at all, but the sullen look to her is all he needs to figure out how she's feeling. "Would you fall in love with me again?" he asks, matching her expression, silently begging for the same answer.

Her surprised look makes him smile, then she giggles as she nuzzles into his tight yet firm chest. "Mmm… only if I get a raise and I get to sleep in this bed every night."

"You're only gettin' one o' those things, An."

"That mean I get to pick?" Of course she doesn't but she rolls with it anyway. "Hm… well I _do_ like money."

He flicks her forehead, earning him a pointed look. He thinks it's funny. She thinks he's a dolt.

Anyone else would have wondered if what became of them was born out of circumstance, if it would not have happened had they not met such a tragedy. But she doesn't trouble herself with such things, relishing only in his warmth and perhaps the still shrinking erection. She flicks it.

"It's not a toy, An."

"Since I'm your girlfriend now, I think I have the right to say it is."

He flicks her on the boob this time, making sure to aim for the nipple.

"Ow! That hurts!" She huffs but all he does is smirk.

Underneath his chin he does not see her expression twist as she allows her mind to wander. At first she thinks of the morning to come and what beautiful, sexy things she'll make of it. But it drifts further, into an unlikely train of thought that takes her first from whether he likes tea or coffee, then to Terence and his request.

He wanted her to go with him, to ease her mind from the events of last night that still readily tore at her from the inside. Such irony that it was that in the comfort of his arms, she only then realized just how hard it was to live with the idea of Kayla's death. _Way to kill an afterglow, Terry._

But he was right after all. So as she trails a delicate finger over Cal's chest, wondering briefly if he'll let her go. "I want to take a break, leave town for a day."

"I can't go with you, An. I have to stay here."

"I meant without you."

He fears the worst, matching her worried, drifting gaze with his own. "An, what are you sayin'?"

She beams gently at him, kissing him in the cheek. "I'm not leaving you, ya dumb cat, I just need time to get my mind off things. Just for a day. I'm asking as your employee."

He sighs. Now more than ever he'd like her to stick around but he knows she needs this. He can't help but feel that Terence is involved, and he'd silently curse him were he not absolutely right. "You do what you want with yer' free time, just… come back ta' me come the next mornin'."

"You can count on me, Cal." She kisses his forehead, silently aching with the idea of being apart after having gone so far together. But necessity demanded it and she knew she couldn't help him otherwise.

Out of everything she was fearful for him, unsure if he had the strength to keep the town together without either of his girls. But perhaps he would, he always did have a knack for surpassing expectations. But doubt still lingered, and it frustrated her.

But as he settled into a deep sleep, his breaths unfurling his chest before her in a rhythmic lull, she finds that these thoughts are also just as pointless as the rest of them. Pertinence of a thing, she decides, is entirely up to her. And in this very moment, as her consciousness drifts under the slow beating of his heart, she believes that nothing but him, her, and whether or not she can fit in a quickie in the morning are the only things that matter.

* * *

The rotating door of the Graze Hotel sat behind an icy threshold that Judy is thankful she has a shawl for. Nick on the other hand finds little of the same luck, clutching at his sweater uncomfortably.

"You cold there, Nick?"

"A little. I swear Tundra Town wasn't nearly this bad." He tries to pull the sleeves further over his arms but his thick wrist doesn't let him.

"Yeah," she scans the room, "why is that anyway?"

Nick spots a polar bear with an arctic fox on his shoulder walk into the restaurant. "Looks like the hotel has some visitors." If Nick cared enough, he'd have figured out just who they were, but that required an amount of mental effort that his aching brain wasn't willing to pursue. He'd done enough thinking today, really.

He shivers at a particularly cold gust off the AC, prompting Judy to tug at his arm. "Here, give me a boost."

He cups his hands in front of him, letting her clamber over him with all the energy she had left, as she then sat on his shoulders. She unfurls her folded shawl then drapes it over them both, making them look like an adorable walking totem. "Better?"

He snuggles around the garment, feeling it heat his shivering frame. The happy growl he elicits makes her giggle. "Judy, I could kiss you."

She taps him on the snout. "Nose up, Slick."

Though confused, he does just that, looking up at her from underneath. When his long snout was in place, she pecks it.

His eyes go wide. "Wh-what was that?"

"Me winning," she chimes happily.

He playfully sets his fists on his hips. "Is that what our relationship is to you? A competition?"

"Nick, if we were actually dating, there would _be_ no competition. I'd just end up winning by default." She sounded just like him, a thought she wishes bothered her more.

"Is that so? And what makes you think I'd _ever_ settle for second place?"

She raps at his head, smiling down at the enduring fox. "Because you love me."

"Do I?"

"Yes, yes you do."

The cuddle totem makes its way to the desk clerk, the same jackal from before, who is covered in some thick winter clothing, greets them happily, choosing to entirely ignore their positioning. "Welcome back," he greets, "I'm terribly sorry if you'd hoped for that free dinner tonight. Sadly, the Luciano's are in town and they've got it booked. Terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but we can't possibly refuse such, ahem, _generous_ patrons."

Nick raises a skeptical brow. "They give you an offer you can't refuse?" It was a phrase strangely familiar to Judy.

"I wish," the clerk groans, leaning over his desk. "Were that the case, I'd just call in Sheriff Creed and have them out of here in no time. But _no,_ they've legitimately paid for the restaurant so now I have to stand here in the freezing cold in a damn sweater. I'm a jackal for Pete's sake, not an arctic shrew."

Judy winces at the sound of a smashed plate, followed by the toss of what she believes is a wad of cash.

She notices the mice family from yesterday rolling into the front door, instantly shivering, but a bellboy with a heating lamp quickly runs toward them. "Isn't this bad for the other patrons?" she asks.

"Not really. It's only restricted to the ground floor." He spies the mocking wiggled brows of a custodian and maid walking up the stairs, pretending to shiver at him. "Ugh, I have never been so envious of the guys who clean the toilets and change the sheets." He quickly hands a bellboy the keys for the mice family who quickly joins them at the elevator.

"Doesn't that thing keep you warm?" Judy points at his thick jacket.

"Yeah but I thrive in the desert, live off the heat. It's days like these that make me wish I joined the ZPD instead."

"You wanted to join the force?"

He gives them a dejected sigh, carrying his hopes in dreams in what Nick believes is complete and utter defeat. "Mom was overprotective, kept insisting it was too dangerous."

Judy groaned. "I know how _that_ feels."

Nick taps at the desk. "Hey, uh…"

"Keen," the jackal finishes, "my name's Keen."

"Right, Keen, think you guys could send us some dinner upstairs?"

"Yeah," Judy adds, "we're famished. Skipped the whole thing to get to the station."

"You got it." He starts running a hand over his books. "I'll send it right over after the chefs have been freed up. I'll give you guys a call."

"Thank you, you're a saint," Nick compliments.

They amble over to the elevator, stopping at the sight of a lounging bellboy who had apparently converted his oversized jacket into an igloo where only half of his head poked out of the neck hole.

"Hey," Nick asks, prompting the hyena to pull his head out of his jacket, "do you know how to operate the elevator?"

"Oh, there's no need for an operator anymore. Harrier Industries sent an actuator to us and we'd just finished installing them this afternoon. They automatically adjust the weight settings now."

"Harrier Industries?" Judy exchanges a glance with her partner. "You mean like that delegate from the Mildew Burrows?"

The hyena seems to chew the thought in his head before finally nodding with a dumb squint in his eyes. "That's him I think, yeah. Came with a letter too, said he'd considered the place an investment. To tell you the truth though, I think the guy's a little too pish-posh for my taste. But that's probably just cause the only Halberian I've met is Mellivora and she takes herself _way_ too seriously."

They had hoped they'd heard the last of that insufferable woman but perhaps "Speaking of which," she dares to say, "I haven't seen her since. Did she skip town or something?"

"Wishful thinking, that. No she's on the roof, apparently, drinking herself to death for some reason."

Nick and Judy would have considered this something to look into, but simply dealing with Mellivora or even helping her out just didn't sit well with them.

The elevator ride goes just as expected, smooth and without any trouble. It was the first sign of something really going their way today but it was a frail consolation since the day was closing. The actuator itself is intriguing, accented by the decorated clockwork bunny face on the machine attached to the elevator panel. "That looks expensive," Nick comments. "And this Mister Harrier handed it to them for free?"

"From what I've heard, he's just like that, but he admits that it's really just for business."

Nick wasn't a racist. Having dealt with enough colorful individuals to know just about every species that walks the free earth makes it hard to not like any particular group. But there was something about Red-Eyed-White rabbits that bothers him. "I don't know, Judes. I swear those piercing red eyes are hiding something."

"Have you ever actually met one before?"

"A lot, back in Halberd. They're all creepy, I tell ya. All Harriers too, if I recall."

"You were in Halberd?"

Nick fondly remembers the European continent. He'd gone there with Finnick but that was more of a personal thing for him. It did almost nothing for Nick other than get him paid with an expensive and rather cherished trinket, but he'd never forget the sights he saw. "I was there for a job. A little on the personal side for Finnick but it was fun. We should go there sometime." Cause all of his memories of the place were littered with chase scenes and a depressed princess, plus Finnick which didn't exactly make it the best experience he's ever had. These are images in his head he'd rather replace with her.

"I'd like that. Would make for a great vacation."

The elevator dings at their floor, sliding the silver doors open. Judy is about to make further mention of the celebrities she knows from the country but she stops when she squints down the hall. "That's weird. The doorknob's been reset to the top."

Nick squints too, confirming by the room number that it's theirs. "Housekeeping maybe?" he offers, not entirely convinced himself.

"Maybe."

She's luckily already perched on top of him to undo the lock and roll it down to their level. When they enter their hotel room they are met with a surprisingly comfortable warmth. The mild air does wonders for their stiff fur, letting them coo at the sensation.

Judy then rolls off his back, taking her shawl with her. "I'll go take a bath, what about you?"

"Sure, I could go for a—" All Nick wanted to do was plop into bed while he waited for Judy. Instead he finds an idle evidence box placed at the foot of their bed, likely misplaced by a deputy who mistook orders. "Oh for the love of—!"

Judy follows his eyes before she sees it too. "Sweet cheese and crackers…" She trails off before picking up her phone, calling on Terence again. "Hey, Kaenid, I don't know what kind of mix up you guys had but we have an evidence box in our room."

Nick walks over to it, eying it with irritation. It's probably disorganized as hell too, covered in mucked up evidence by deputies who were far too antsy to properly stow away evidence. Though Nick hasn't been in town for as long as Creed has, he already didn't like most of the deputies. Their incompetence struck him as something worse than an average criminal, they were public servants who did nothing.

Right now the box represented something he'd hated: failed institutions. It led the ignorant, fed the corrupt, and Nick could totally see how easy it would be if even one of their local officials decided to take over. It takes only one evil man to do the job after all.

He wanted to kick it, pour out some frustration into it in the hopes that it will somehow make up for all the shitty things that happened today.

"What do you mean by that?" Judy asks over the phone. "No one touched it?"

Nick didn't even wait for her to finish, that last line peeking his interest.

 _No one touched it?_ Carefully he opens the box and finds the exact things he was expecting.

"Okay, okay. Just let me know what you guys find." Judy puts down the phone, hopping onto the bed next to him.

She watches Nick take out several bullets in a zip-lock bag. "There's nothing in here but stuff we already took," he comments.

She reaches in then pulls out two bags with the green sweater cloth and Kayla's dress still tied to a splint. "Ugh, this was supposed to stay in the lab for testing tomorrow." Judy didn't like admitting she was incredibly frustrated, they were green after all, but she firmly believes that the force requires a certain level of competence and discipline, two things she's sure those deputies don't even understand.

Nick pulls out a particularly large bag, inside was something wrapped up in damp old newspaper. "This looks new." He rolls it over and sees the headline and date.

"That's today's paper," Judy comments. "So this was prepared today." Could one of them have found something competent, perhaps a clue as to who Carrion is? She didn't want to get her hopes up but it seemed feasible if they bothered to store such a thing.

Nick slowly takes it out of the bag, his claws doing the work for him. He then carefully pieces off the paper, unfurling the cold, thin object inside. "It's kinda stuck in there."

Their hotel room phone rings.

"I'll get it," Judy announces as she hops off.

Nick continues on, hearing the uncomfortable squelch of the material. Peeling layer after layer made him almost lose his appetite, prompting him to hurry up. But when he peels off the last of the mucked paper, he nearly gags at what he finds.

Judy turns back to watch him hack and wheeze, holding back a hurl that will undoubtedly contain his lunch. When she gives him a confused look, he uncups his hand from his mouth then pulls up the bag with the object in it: _a camel's severed arm._

"Hey, Keen?" she says over the phone, "I don't think we'll be eating."

**~o~~~o~**

_It was an omen of things to come, a gift to mock us with that conjured menacing thoughts of Carrion's malign nature. And perhaps that train of thought should have ended there, but it didn't. It occurred to me that the killer we stalked was more than the stories told. That Carrion, the monster inside, marveled in its anonymity, that grim crest of its shadow, and relished in our shortcomings, our inability to follow that beast's footsteps. It spurned thoughts of turmoil, hinting us at the rage it spread through the town like a disease, and I could not tell you how scared I felt when I held my gun with certainty in that brief moment of heated weakness, tasting that madness._

_~Nick Wilde_


	10. Anatomy of a Widower (pt. 1)

**Chapter 4 – Anatomy of a Widower**

_When you meet those that lost someone, you always find a piece of them missing somewhere. There's always that crack in their heart that sits in their sleeve, or a paleness to their soul that's starved and wanting. Grief, it seemed, was a recurring theme. But in a town that was going mad, I guess I should have figured that such a thing was… dangerous._

_~Nick Wilde_

**~o~~~o~**

Before anyone knew it, it was Tuesday. Midnight had just passed, where most of the town slumbers under the canvas of stars, an irreverent beauty that seemed to contrast horribly with the events that came. A severed arm brought into the station could have been one thing altogether, but it was entirely another when it belonged to one of their own. It's the kind that draws tears from those that knew Sigurd Mason, and a poisonous dread from everyone else.

But the veterans of the station pressed on despite. One of them, Ta'darie Laoenne, had taken young Sigurd under her wing. She viewed him like the son she never had, and this struck a particularly hard chord for her. Yet, even in her grief, she found the strength to sit in the same room as that arm, only harnessing enough resolve to vomit later rather than now.

The rest are nonplussed, mostly, fighting sleep instead of tears. Creed was already fast asleep when the call came in, but news of the arm quickly woke the magnanimous bear. But awake as he was, the fit of yawning he was met with in the briefing room may very well have just made him tired again.

Never had there been a more appropriate time to say that— "Justice never sleeps," Sam groans as she leans against the wall.

She puts down the heated coffee that warms her icy fingers. The AC was way too high this late at night, and she regards Creed, who contemplates over the closed blinds, and wonders if the polar bear is every reason why it's always so chilly. So she reaches for the aircon knob, then Creed gives her a blank, indiscernible gaze, making her pull back.

When he looks away, she readily scowls through a forced smile. _I'll knit you a damn sweater if I have to, just ease off the winter wonderland, old man._ She couldn't bring herself to say it, cold as it is, but she is thankful, in the very least, that it served as a good distraction from what was before her.

"Yup, that's a camel's alright," Kaenid helpfully sums up for everyone. The wrinkled base that was a part of the elbow, the shape of the thin bone, and the hooved fingers were all indicative of a camel.

Kaenid found some grim relief in confirming that it was Sigurd's arm. Were it anyone else's, it would have been much worse. But as he settles it down and leans back into a table, his empirical mind taking a backseat after half an hour of expert forensic scrutiny, suddenly he realizes just how wrong that thought was.

He winces to himself, catching the attention of his partner, Suther Reese. The armadillo nudges the wolf, eying him up with a quizzical look. "You alright there, Terence?"

"I'm fine, Suth. Just a little bothered is all." Terence is only surprised that his partner isn't sleepy at all, but he attributed that to years of late night gaming and energy drinks over anything else.

"Bothered doesn't even begin to describe what we're dealing with." Suther gestures to the arm in the middle of the room, seated on a silver tray with a lamp over it.

The pathetic display makes Terence frown. Without proper equipment, this is the best way they could handle the item. They don't even have cold storage, so they'll have to stow this away in the lounge fridge, which isn't a pleasant thought by any regard. It probably isn't sanitary either, sterile cling wrap or no.

He then glances at his mentor who is twisting his face in a flurry of expressions as he wrestles with some conversation in his head. Creed kept the room cold to preserve the arm as best they could, but of course there is more to it. Creed sits in the freezing cold to relax himself, catching some semblance of memoriam, of days in Halberd's cheery winters. Kaenid dares not interrupt, dejecting to bear with the cold until he can leave the room.

Kaenid yawns, long and weak as he leans back, trying his hardest not to fall asleep right there and then. He was supposed to be out of town in six hours, but between helping out Gizelle and the sudden development on the case, he quickly found that the good night's sleep he was hoping for was well out the window. _Hope Annie decides to come with. I could really use a nap in the car._

Nick and Judy push open the double doors, looking like a fluffy totem. Judy sat on his shoulders, draping her shawl over them as she leans into his scalp. In their hands is a paper cup of coffee, sipped in unison.

In a room with a severed arm, it was certainly strange that they were suddenly the center of attention, simultaneously being the weirdest and cutest thing in the room. Judy didn't even leave her perch when Nick hoisted them up onto a table to sit on, idly sipping.

In the background, a deputy hare clutched his chest, feeling his heart stop with confusing thoughts of not just the bunny, but even the fox.

When Creed sent them to investigate the hotel, he didn't think they'd come back to him like _this._ He could feel the brimming aura of their youth, the edge of some young love he was all too familiar with. But even when he was caught in reminisce, enamored by them and whatever they were, he still had the good sense to think it strange. "What are you two… nevermind. What did you find?"

She takes another sip. "All the cameras were knocked out."

"All of them? The **entire** hotel went on video blackout?"

"All five stories, Sheriff," Nick adds. "The watchman at the cameras was knocked out by some sleeping pills and the room was locked when we arrived with the guard still inside. It honestly would have been easier to pull the plug on the place but it looks like Carrion wanted to show off."

"But why all the cameras?" Suther asked.

Judy was really hoping not to be asked such a question. She really just hoped that everyone got the same idea. "Knock out a few and there's a relatively clear route to the door. Knock them all out and suddenly you can't even tell if he even walked through the front door, let alone what path he took to the room!"

Judy didn't like the grim looks they were getting. It was bad news, the lot of it, and what's worse was that there was more. "There were no signs of forced entry in there either. Looks like Carrion lifted some keys off the staff." Custodians, maids, all the help have access to the rooms. Keys leave no signs of forced entry, and that's exactly the kind of subtlety Carrion would go for.

"It isn't actually very hard to get keys off the help, so he likely managed to get it back just as easily. But it wouldn't hurt to ask around." Nick nearly winced moments later. It was certainly a comment that crazy puma from last night would have raised a brow at.

Then said puma walked into the room, a clipboard in hand and Liz on his shoulder. _Speak of the devil._

"Ross," Creed announced, tone a little desperate, "please tell me you have something."

"You're not gonna like it, Sheriff." he says solemnly in a strange variant of his monotone voice. "Both our records and our surveillance were tampered with. Video feed was on a loop, but not just any kind. It was randomized, playing clips from previous nights in a pattern that almost looked believable, real time even."

"Adding to that, Deputy Liz Waterdale," he gestures to the otter meekly sitting on his shoulder, "keeps a physical copy of our records, including the shifts. And according to her, not only were the shifts altered, all our new hirees that we got just last week were on duty tonight without a single veteran to keep watch." It was against Creed's policy, made far more strict with new recruits on duty. There always had to be a veteran who'd stay with them less they muck something up

Anonymity, it seemed was one of Carrion's greater assets, and he used that to his advantage here in the station. Sam sighed drearily, a frustrated hand running through the fur on her head. "That's a whole lot of people who don't know everyone yet. Perfect for slipping passed security."

"What I don't understand," Liz began, "is how he managed to get passed the evidence room. It has an electronic lock that basically announces itself with a loud ring when you open it."

Kaenid felt that the process itself was simple, if a little difficult. There was no feasible way into it asides from the front the electronic gate, so the through the gate had to be the only way in. "How many people got into the evidence room earlier?"

Liz was a little hesitant. She already suspected him to be Carrion, which kind of made her feel incredibly guilty when the forensics protégé regarded her so well, no look of scrutiny from him about her. "Um…" she pulls out a paper pad. She already knew the answer, but she was too nervous and wouldn't risk getting it wrong. "Only three."

"And let me guess," Creed crossed his arms, "Cormick was the watchman?"

"Yes, sir."

"Of course it was… the boy's blind as a bat without his glasses." And he keeps misplacing them. "Waterdale, Ross, I need everyone who was in that room, including Cormick, interviewed. Find out what you can."

Ross nods, taking her away with him.

He only barely spares a glance at Nick, who steadily ignores him to the best of his ability. Ross wanted to see a twinge in him like earlier, a crack in his disinterested gaze, but he doesn't. He wanted to shoot Nick a baleful look, but he settled for his stoicism, assuring himself that that was a quality of Carrion.

Creed then orders three other veterans in the room to gather deputies to help interview the staff in the hotel. With a place that big, there's going to be a lot of them. He makes mention of Keen, siting that he could be an incredible asset since he knows everyone in the building. It was a rather fond regard as well, prompting him to emit that hardy laugh.

But it is a fleeting moment of joy, one that quickly fades when he looks at the returned evidence box behind him.

He's determined to find what he can because that box, to him, was an open insult to his station and everyone in it. It spoke volumes of lackluster security, how lax that place had become. It was a wakeup call for a man who felt like he'd prepared for everything, breaking his personal cardinal rule: _never be caught off-guard._

It's a rule that kept him alive, and all those around him. And now, more than ever before, he grew irreparably afraid of what his lack of preparation will cost him next.

His eyes then fall to Sam, as stoic and resolute as he is. She is like the daughter he never had, perhaps that single most important person in his life that isn't his wife, and he feared that he might very well lose her to this case. But he would never dare ask her to leave for her own safety, not that he'd want her to, but his faith in her strength was proven wrong before.

He regards Nick and Judy, the plucky young detectives that were making waves in their work. They'd already uncovered so much, enough to make his old bones hope. "As for you two…"

"Yeah, Sheriff?" Nick asks as Judy's ears perk up in attention.

"Get some rest. It's been a long night and it would be best if you two were in your top shape come the sunrise."

"We're well awake now, Sheriff," Judy reasoned. "We could help—" Nick cups her mouth over with his mug.

" _Thank you_ , Sheriff. We'll be on our way." Nick says as Judy baps him on the head.

"Very good. Now off you go."

Nick takes them out of the room hurriedly, not wanting Judy to argue.

All too quickly they're in the car, Judy huffing at Nick as he playfully ignores her scowling. And once the doors were locked tight in that lonely parking lot, she turns to him incredulously. "What was that all about?"

His hands are loose over the wheel's grip, fighting quietly with himself and his resolve, practically drowning in the lies that etched into his smirk. "I've worked with you long enough to know that you'll just needlessly push yourself too hard then we'll eventually get nowhere."

She doesn't want to slow down. She's afraid of missing something crucial, delaying a case where time was certainly of the essence. They had little of it to spare now, because it had only been five days since Carrion's return and they could already feel the mask the town wore with an ironclad will crack under sheer pressure. And grave things would follow were the mask to shatter entirely. "Nick, we don't have any other leads. They could really use our help out there."

"And I could use yours." His smirk disappears so quickly that it scares her. Their eyes lock in a solemn stare, matching the tension in the air as the woes they fought so desperately to hide while they were in the station suddenly lay bare.

But as everyone worried about a severed arm and a stolen evidence box, they found something else to worry about on top of all that.

"I'm scared, Judes. Cause you were right, this case…" he pulls out his pistol, _"it does_ do things to people." Nick had taken his gun without a second thought when they'd left with the box. He'd taken it with such certainty that he almost dropped it by the belt when he realized he was putting it on.

But then Judy's shawl fell over them again when she quickly mounted him, her entirely unbeknownst to the weapon at his hip.

He looked up at her and saw that innocuous smile, saw it tear through him and his hesitations, hiding the worst parts of what he feared he'd slowly become, and cradle it all in her warmth. Because for all that she was, is, or ever will be, she would be the one to remind him he'd need not fear the world for she was in it, ready to see him through what may come, with a smile to match his own.

So then he takes her trembling hand, feeling that mutual distress pour out of their still bleeding hearts, and begs her with his eyes alone. Words barely escape him then, caught in his throat as he chokes on his hesitations.

Then she ambles over to him, seated over his lap as she rests her head over his chest. She undoes his holster, placing the weapon over on the passenger seat.

Again he feels less afraid, holding her in what he can only describe as his solace, the last true vestige of sanity he had left in this town. And he cherishes it with such reverence, clutching at it for all that he was, all that would remain of him after this case.

"I just need to remember who I am," he says finally, "underneath the uniform, the badge, the **gun**." His heart heaves the weight he'd have to carry, the vessel of some encroaching madness that snaked through his deft hands that took a weapon he'd once thought he'd never touch so willingly. "This town… it makes me feel like I'm somebody else."

The gun in the other seat burns in his eyes, stings him with a constant reminder of the man that slowly materialized out of this discord. He scowls at it, gritting his teeth, begging what powers that be that it would vanish. That he'd wake up in his own bed the next morning with Judy in his arms, solving another benign case that wasn't quite as complicated or as damning.

But then she takes off her shawl, answering that far-gone prayer, tossing it over the seat, hiding the weapon once more to remind him of who will always be there to take his fears away.

"Nick," she says softly, eying him with that same unconditional love plastered over a smile that was only the tiniest bit sad, "let's go home."

He, at first, believes that she ask that they run away. Go back to Zootopia so they could leave this all behind, but of course that isn't the case. Instead he drives back to the hotel with her still on his lap.

She takes the shawl and hands him his gun, which is somehow much less menacing with her at his side, taking his arm in hers, forcing those demons away. Demons he knows she shares with him.

He doesn't remember where he places the gun when they get to their room. He doesn't even know if they even bothered to lock the door. Instead all he remembers in that sunrise to come is that he cradled her in his arms as they fell under the sheets, holding her close as she leaves him with a single kiss to his heaving chest, and forgets the world amidst dreams of an immaculate beauty, one that he wonders if he could keep for himself.

And as she feels his breath steady over her, alight as he drifts into peaceful slumber, she too wonders if she could keep him, her stalwart figure against the grave uncertainties she briefly forgets she even has.

He lulls to her sleep then with an unconscious caress over the back of her head, and she coos under his gentle touch.

There is a serenade in them, a song sung with heartbeat after heartbeat, rhythmic in steady breaths and the sound of skin and fur molding together in quiet solace and symphony, adrift in a fictional world they build in the valleys of their bodies. It is a place made too serene, too divine for anyone else to comprehend.

_A peace only they know, where only they can escape._

* * *

 

To Denzel Creed, Bronc Town was meant to be an escape from the life he once lived. And before that, the ZPD was meant to be an escape from the life before that. But it seemed that everywhere he went, there was another fresh hell just waiting for him.

Caporegime to the Bigs was a life mired in years of bloodshed and deceit, temporary friends and always having to keep one eye open at night. And who would have thought that being head of the forensics department in the ZPD would only earn him more enemies. But years of good work kept him there, proficiency led to pride that kept his feet set firmly in place. Yet it would not last as bones that grew too old too soon would ache for a life much simpler.

But the grim shadow that took passage in his life is persistent. So as he ambles into his living room to greet his wife and Sam, he does so half-heartedly, dreading what the day brings.

He joins Sam by the counter that connects his kitchen and his living room, resting his head on his palm.

"Coffee?" Mona asks as she passes her husband by, yawning quietly.

"Not right now, my dear. Get some rest. I'll join you momentarily."

She nods in response, kissing him gently on the cheek as she saunters away, drawing Creed's eyes to her rear before returning to Sam.

"Whiskey?" Sam offers a shot glass.

"Yes please." He takes the bottle.

With a quick downing of alcohol, he settles it down with a hard thud, collapsing onto the counter. "I cannot believe we have to go through this again. I wasn't suffering enough when I had to deal with the incompetence of my own deputies and now I have to deal with Carrion. I swear if this goes on any longer, I'll lose my bloody mind."

"Hm," she affirms, taking a shot of whiskey, "makes you wonder why he even stopped in the first place."

He scoffs. "Maybe he went on a vacation, killing somewhere else..." he responds sarcastically. Then he reaches an epiphany. "Actually, that's an incredibly good question. I can't believe I didn't wonder it myself. I suppose I was just relieved that it was all over when it did but—"

"Don't waste your breath, old man," she cuts him off, rolling the shot glass in her hand. "I looked into the vacation theory already. It's another dead end." No one significant was out of town on the day the kidnappings stopped.

Of course she did. Sam is thorough that way. "Blast it..." he groans, sinking into the counter.

The tiger is clearly restless, shifting in her seat as her eyes draw a stern line across her brows. She isn't the least bit tired either despite having assisted with the interviews for the past hour or so.

Sam feels that she is tasked with things too menial. Her assistance with the case has been centered in aiding Creed and only barely in the field, which would have been alright had she not failed in doing exactly what she was asked to do.

Bogo asked her to protect Nick and Judy, but when she bolted into the kitchen the night of Kayla's kidnapping, she'd failed to recognize that Nick might be in danger having gone out alone himself. But it is a thing she hardly troubles herself with now. Nick is apparently tougher than he looks and with the way him and Judy seemed to cling even closer together, it appears that they've only learned to lean on each other after the incident.

Still, it leaves no comfort for her as she sits in the backseat of the case. Everyone is depending on Nick and Judy to solve it but it also means that they are content with letting them take the bulk of the work. Something Sam fears is a sign of the station faltering.

Though of course Creed is different, much like herself. He is active, constantly coordinating his deputies so they're well spread out to keep an eye on the town. He is also the only one who personally deals with concerned citizens who have way too many questions about how well they're doing on the case. He snuffs out fires for them, doing his very best to keep the town steady on his end.

But Sam isn't like Creed. She isn't at the helm of command, tasked to keep order. She's someone who is out in the field, assessing crime scenes and associating MOs. And though the little aids here and there have kept her busy, today, it seemed, she would come to a complete halt. And that frustrated her. "I don't want to wait around doing nothing, Creed. And we can't look into the damn arm until Kaenid gets back and that won't even be until tomorrow. I need to do something. I can't just waste time drinking whiskey at three AM. A new lead somewhere. Something. Anything!"

"New leads...?" The gears in Creed's head spins, tracing his thoughts till it clicks together finally. "What about an old one?"

"An old one?"

"Yes, an old one." He gets up, scratching his chin, mulling over an idea that could either be brilliant or a waste of time. "Nick and Judy have a pension for observation, picking apart scenarios much like you and Bogo. But they do it differently, a talent that is alike but distinctly their own. What if you took them somewhere you've already combed over? Give your previous crime scenes a once over with a fresh pair of eyes."

"That's not a bad idea, Creed." Perhaps she may even find something she missed herself, but it's been eleven years since then and what little crime scenes were available have likely been contaminated. "But where would I take them?"

He moves toward his front door, eying his wide, snowman-themed key rack. "What few crime scenes we _did_ have have long since been tampered with." He takes a pair of keys with a blue label on it. "All except one..."

"I've long since kept it with me. Had a guard by its gate in the hopes that maybe Calvary could do something about it. I suppose it was a blessing in disguise that he was always preoccupied." He tosses the keys to her, deft hands snatching them from the air. "Lorenzo Valentino's warehouse."

"Where we found Alexander Wolfgang…" she responds, rubbing her thumb over the key's base.

"We've only had two direct accounts with Carrion: One with Nick, and then there was Wolfgang. Perhaps Wolfgang left something else behind for us to find."

The suggestion is more a stretch than anything else, and they both know it, but with a case with fleeting leads, they were willing to take such likely pointless risks. "I've no illusions that it'll yield anything, but perhaps it just might."

"Maybe it will, Creed." It almost feels like a lie when it comes out of her. Or perhaps it is desperate. But the specifics are unimportant. If they find something, then it will all have been worth it. If they find nothing, they'd have used time that would usually just be kept waiting for Terence.

But they needed some good news, and perhaps they'll find some with Nick and Judy.

* * *

The sunrise is nearly blinding when Terence looked into the horizon to greet it. He'd been up for entirely too long and the fatigue finally caught up to him, forcing him to squint, blinking droplets out of his eyes.

"Put these on," An says as she hands him a pair of shades. "I'll drive, Terry, so try to relax, alright?"

"I'll reserve all judgments about your driving when we get to Zootopia." He dangles the keys in front of her.

"Fuck you, Terry." She snatches them from him, giving him a pointed look she knows he doesn't even have the energy to smirk at.

"Speaking of fucking, how was he?" He asks, masking his desperation for her not to confirm what he'd seen a mile away.

"Shit, was I being obvious?"

Her look of shock is nearly priceless. Well… it could have been. Inside, Terence fought to hold back an innate scream. "You haven't looked this happy since your parents got back together." He smiles weakly at her, mimicking a mock joy that he swears would have looked absolutely fake if he was any more awake.

He would have been happy with her and Calvary, when times were less desperate, willing to sacrifice for it even, but now is too soon. And it bore consequences that forced his heart to race.

She continues on, rambling about the night of heated passion as Terence slips into the backseat, quietly texting Liz. He won't get any sleep on this trip, he knows that now, but it's a pain that will end up being a far cry from what everyone else will have to deal with when Creed finds out about this.

Moments later, the otter girl got the message.

"Oh, fuck." She quickly clasps her mouth. Cursing is uncharacteristic of her but never before had there been a more appropriate time to do so.

She dashes through the station, ignoring the worried looks she's getting, not even stopping at the Sheriff's door, ramming into it instead with a hand on the lower knob. "Sheriff, we have a problem."

The bear barely has time to register what is happening before Liz shoves her phone to his face.

He quickly reads the text, then slowly as he rereads it, then a third time where his look of confusion morphs into one of unabated horror. "No… no…" He runs a hand through his fur, trying to contain the flurry of burning sensations that crest into his suddenly rumbling throat.

" **No, no, no, no!** " He slams his desk with his palms, trying to quell the unhealthy mixture of emotions tearing into him.

Liz barely contains her own cocktail of emotions, not even able to flinch at Creed's repeated abuse of the desk she's standing on.

He gets up, hand placed firmly on his forehead as he struggles with what is certainly the biggest migraine he's ever had. "Waterdale, gather our team and the ZPD into the briefing room immediately. We need damage control, and we need it **now!** "

"Yes, sir!" She bolts out of the room, going as fast as her little feet could take her. It isn't long till she's simultaneously calling out names for the briefing and speaking hastily over her phone. She works like a machine, deft hands typing faster than her mouth can run and shout, but her voice hitches everyone once in a while. She is clearly panicked, desperate to get everyone together for the inevitable scream fest from Creed.

The entrance of the station swings open minutes later when Nick and Judy arrive. They have been awake for over an hour already. The night's sleep was spectacular, a reminder of what awaits them when they finally get home to Nick's apartment. So they hop into the station, as happy as they could be, but the joy turns to confusion when they spot Liz still bolting through the room.

When she passed them by, completely unaware of them, Nick stops her with a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to look up at concerned pair. "What's up, kiddo?" Nick asks.

She didn't explain it to them, that was Creed's job, but she supposes that she could have been a little less vague. _We need you at the briefing room_ isn't exactly the most informative statement in the world.

She sees them worry for her, both steadily calming her down.

"Liz," Judy asks, running fingers off the side of top of her head like a mother, "what's wrong?"

In that moment she manages to catch a breath, realizing that her heart thumped harshly in her tiny chest. She manages to steady, a ghost of a smile somewhere on her lips but quickly vanishes when she remembers what's going on. "I'm sorry," she says normally this time, "but Creed will explain. Just know that it's urgent."

They accept it as she dismisses herself, speed walking instead of sprinting this time around. They got through to her, that much is clear, but there is a silent dread for what lies beyond those double doors, visibly tearing into Liz as the smile she'd had plastered onto her is suddenly deathly serious, and it seemed ironclad.

"What's eating her?" Sam asks, as she stands beside them.

"Oh, hey Sam," Judy greets. "Frankly, we have no idea. All we know is that it doesn't look good."

"At this point, will anything in this town ever look good?" she says somberly, biting her lip. "By the way," she quickly redraws their attention, "I'll be taking you two to an old crime scene of mine later. It's untampered with so maybe you'll find something me and Bo missed."

"You're not bothered by us investigating one of your old crime scenes?" Nick asks, who is just a little bit worried.

"Nick, if I thought like that, we'd get nowhere."

When they walk into the room, Sam finds Creed's anger bubbling up again, easily upsetting her. It seems as if any time he's in here, he always turns into that furious old man that once made a gruesome legend for himself in the mafia. It didn't transition very well with her, glimpsing that quiet fury before it erupts, knowing its dimensions and the terror it once struck into his enemies. But the difference between then and now is that Creed did not actually have anyone justifiable to toss his anger at, because Carrion is still some nameless creature, and he can't very well scream at an idea of a person rather than the person itself.

Nick and Judy are perched by the door, sitting on the same table they sat on the previous night. From there they scan the room, meeting the equally bewildered looks of their colleagues.

Among them is the kangaroo Ta'darie Laoenne who, as Suther Reese helpfully informs, is just called Tali. "Try not to use her real name. Getting the pronunciation is ten times more embarrassing when she, herself, is more embarrassed about it than you are."

Across her face and arms are white tattoos etched into her fur. The patterns are like strands of wind, pale white running over her in what appears to be tribal designs of some far off culture. The ones that mark her face seem like the tail end of the wind that runs through her, dotting over her cheeks and around her eyes in rhythmic swirls. She seems entirely foreign in that regard, a beauty from another world. One that clearly captivates them as they admire her for entirely too long, prompting them to look away before she lazily passes a glance at them.

But despite her immaculate features, Tali is not a stoic and poised figure, evident in her clear impatience, tapping her foot as she anxiously awaits the last of the team to shut the door. She doesn't want to be here. She was in her room reading a good book cause she was supposed to take the day off, to forget the boy she lost, but where there were once tears are now only the tightness of features out of uncomfortable agitation.

She deigns to scowl at Creed but before she does, she sees the look on his face as he eyes the window. Tali expected this meeting to be a recap of all that's happened, but with the way Creed's solemn expression twists, meandering towards some anger or frustration he has so far kept abreast, it is clear to her now that that certainly isn't the case.

She weaves through the tiny crowd toward Rostetler, who greets her with a steady nod.

"Ross," she says, "what do you think Creed wants with us?"

He too finds the intense gaze of Creed, equally concerned for what may come. "I don't know, but he got us _all_ here, and that means it's something big."

Liz pulls shut the double doors as she escorts Javan into the room. The rhino is the last of the team Creed needs, confirming it with a quick look about the room with a mental roll call. She notes that most of them are either confused or nonplussed. They have no idea what's coming.

When Creed hears the door click locked, he turns to them. He nods to Liz first before taking a deep breath, trying to sate his frustrations, but the scream that builds in his throat is almost far too overwhelming. The nearly soundproof walls could only relay muffled noises on the outside, even to the keenest of ears like Judy's, but he fears that raising his voice as far as he wants to will catch unwanted attention.

To his surprise, he finds himself steadying, judging the pertinence of discretion at this crucial moment. "We have a monumental **fuck up** to deal with." It comes out stern but the scream the room expects doesn't come.

The room is silent for only a moment, Creed letting it settle with the tone before he presses any further. A deep sigh escapes him, meeting their attentive gazes. "Just this morning, Deputy Waterdale had received a message from Kaenid who has helpfully informed her about An's recent… _exploits._ "

"Don't tell me she's Carrion," someone in the room says aloud. It causes an eruption of discussion, filling the silence with dense conversation about how it made sense or how it didn't.

It culminated much too loudly for Creed. Rubbing the bridge of his snout, enough of his personal restraints loosened as he seethed under the noise. Finally he could not contain himself, bellowing a shout that silences the room. "She is **fucking** Calvary!"

Nick, Judy and Sam are the only ones confused, the rest are matted with looks of shock. Even Ross's solid visage cracks in a mortified stare, whispering "Jesus Christ…" The rest of them mutter similar statements.

Though not at all interested in Calvary's love life, Sam could not help but feel annoyed. "So what if they're fucking? What's the big deal?"

"I'm sorry, Sam," Liz timidly replies, "but it's a really, really, _really_ big deal."

Creed realizes that the ZPD were never informed of it. Nick and Judy made to make their own statements but he carefully halts them, giving them gentle look that tells them he'll explain as he steadies his beating heart yet again. "There are pertinent reasons why Calvary has remained… _unavailable_ for the past three years. Reasons that are entirely vital to the stability of this town."

He would have opted for the short and skinny of it but this was a delicate issue and they needed to know every important facet of it. "When he became mayor he was given a broken town to lead, and as titanic a task that would be, he'd hold. But we were all still shaken from those grueling months chasing Carrion and just about everyone was either ready to leave or… just about there. Most of my deputies had already left for the same reasons. Honestly, I couldn't blame them. The veterans who are in this very room are all that remain of my original team," he gestures to them, "far too little, really."

"Soon enough it became clear that my position would come into question if I didn't meet the required quota of staff. It also would have been far too dangerous to have a lackluster force tasked to watch an entire town all by itself." He remembers quickly the spree of robberies he had to take on himself. It was a hectic week, one that made him sour and cold to the point of angering his usually meek wife, an event that he'd rather not have repeat.

"We'd get a few over the years that came," Tali adds. "Kaenid, Liz, Reese." She gestures to those present before turning back to the ZPD. "But it was never enough. Work was overbearing on top of being depressing. Morale was on an all-time low and even _I_ considered leaving."

"So in came Calvary with a brilliant idea. After all he'd already done for the town, he found the time to address the station's issues, the very station that accused him of being a murderer." He'd have laughed were it not a bitter truth about his previous relationship with the mayor. There is a quiet thanks to his tone, grateful for the man's practicality. "Come June two years ago, and the high school released a fresh batch of students. Only… the majority of them lacked enough prospects to leave town or were far too indolent to join the farms. Their ineptitude spurned something terrible in Stable Village, a vast depression amongst their parents that, if it was allowed to continue, would have driven the town off the edge. With far too much funding in the station going nowhere, he offered that those very graduates join the force."

"It was a relief, really. To us, everyone," Javan adds, gesturing with his large wrists. "Despite their shortcomings, there are days where they do the job just fine. Catching a thief, handing out a ticket, stopping a heated argument with only a uniform and a badge; minor, everyday police things, but they were important."

"Children who had lived their entire lives being disappointments or had nothing to their name suddenly had something they were proud to tell their parents about at dinner. It saved the station, Stable Village, and, consequently, the town. So you can imagine how vital they actually are."

"But what does this have to do with Calvary being single?" Nick asked.

Creed's imperceivable gaze is troubling, the ghost of his anger bubbling to the surface, quieted by a heated sigh. "Because amongst those deputies is Ilia Countessa Mellivora, the veritable _queen bee_ of the batch. She's the one who leads them, the one that keeps them from quitting. And she is hopelessly _in love_ with Calvary," he punctuates bitterly.

Judy raises a quizzical brow. "Mellivora?"

Creed can't help but feel sorry for them. "Since you two have been to the Graze Hotel then I can only assume that you two have had the displeasure of meeting her sister? I assure you, Ilia is nothing like Meridith. She is a gentle soul, rather fragile, really, and they follow her lead because of her namesake relatives, the Wendalls, a heritage that she is not to fond of being tied to. But it's a name that brought her to Calvary on a family meeting."

"Fate, she called it," Liz is embarrassed to admit, timidly rolling her hands together.

Creed huffs when he leans against the table, drawing all eyes to him. "It is imperative that we keep this low key, but more than that, it is imperative that we keep Calvary's mouth **shut.** " He addresses the room this time, instructing them all. "Because if she finds out that those two are _shagging,_ she could very well leave this station out of heartbreak and the rest of them will follow."

Creed feels that fury build again, cresting through his throat till he almost chokes on it. "I understand that the man is _grieving_ ," there is sympathy in his tone, a kindness that dies when he erupts, "but for **fuck's sake** could he not keep it in his **bloody** trousers for more than two days!?"

He massages the bridge of his snout, a puff of heated breath escapes him. "And we'll lose more than just the remaining stability in this town were they to leave, Lord knows how little of that we have left after Kayla, but we will no longer be able to keep up with the disappearances. Our deputies and their loud mouths and uninhibited curiosity has turned them into the eyes and ears of this station. A quality that has made them absolutely _vital_ to this case. A quality that we will _lose._ "

"So we're not just facing bedlam anymore. We are facing complete and utter collapse! We will lose control of this town – turning us _blind_ – and suddenly Carrion will have free reign over a town that will tear itself apart whilst its police force remains in shambles!"

"I am not willing to lose this case, this station, or this town. Do the lot of you understand!?" What Creed has is a glass tower, one that is needlessly dangerous and entirely fragile, and he's standing at the top, watching it crack underneath him. And their faltering gaze does not please him. So his eyes remain stern, pointed at each and every one of them. Even Ross stood there wide eyed whilst Liz struggled not to draw attention to herself in front of him.

Creed wanted to take care of it himself, but he can't. The lion feels too comfortable around him, comfortable enough to retort. And that is an argument he knows he will lose incredibly. "Pride will not listen to me so I cannot approach him myself, but **someone** needs to. In the very least he needs to be silenced, separated at best. I understand that it is a terrible thing to ask, robbing a man of his happiness, but there are sacrifices that need to be made!"

The anger simmers down, replaced with a mixture of apprehension and some vestige of defeat, etched into his weighted visage like a crown of thorns. But he is still firm, his voice holding that strength but silently begging underneath. "But be warned, I have seen this man at his worst. If he is approached wrong, he will erupt, becoming rash, _reckless._ He could very well be led to leave town if he feels like there is nothing left for him here. So I need _zero_ fuck ups." It comes off in a desperate whisper, his voice no longer rising. "Because losing this station may be abhorrent," he pauses, shifting through the room to ensure all were at attention, "but losing the sodding **mayor** will be monumentally catastrophic!"

"Whomever you send to speak to him must be the very best. Any less, and we will lose everything." And with that, he makes his way to the door, glancing back at nothing when he unlocks the double doors. "Dismissed."

Some of the veterans congregate among themselves, leaving the room after Creed. Judy's keen hearing picks up snippets of the conversations, finding their dejected commentary. They don't want to deal with it, finding it easier to surrender to what they believe is the inevitable. It depresses her but no more than she already is.

Liz only hears one of them in passing. As if she wasn't shaken up enough already, she quickly finds that what she hears only makes matters worse. "I'm sorry, I can't take this anymore." She hops off the table, ambling towards the door as she clutches herself gingerly.

"I'll go see to her," Reese says, chasing after Liz.

The more familiar veterans assemble around Nick and Judy, who suddenly feel dwarfed, even on their perch on the table.

"So what on earth are we supposed to be doing?" Javan asks leaning against the desk.

Nick and Judy have an idea. If they need someone with the right amount of charisma to talk down a troubled lion, what comes to mind is certainly a proper candidate. But they hesitate for too long to suggest it.

"Don't worry about it," Ross says quickly, "I've got it covered."

"Sorry to say, _Ross,_ " Nick retorts, eying the madman up and down, "but you don't exactly look like the cuddly type." A million and one things could go wrong so Nick isn't about to leave this in the hands of a man like him.

Ross's gaze remains indiscernible, but he is only the slightest bit worried that the rest of them agree with Nick.

Tali places a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving him an apologetic smile. "I have to agree with him on this one. Besides, what would you even say?"

"It isn't me who will be talking to him. Creed expects that one of us do just that but I happen to think a third party is exactly what we need." Ross understands that no one in the station can handle the situation as delicately as Creed could.

"I don't know, Ross," she says. "You heard the Sheriff, this is delicate."

Ross fixes her with a desperate look, lips pressed as he silently begs for her side. "Tali, this is for the case, for Elira. So I need you to trust me on this one."

She is skeptical at first but it dies the minute Ross tells her it's about his wife. And she feels for him, knowing full well what this case means to him, much like it does for her. She doesn't know if he shares that sharpened twinge of vengeance like she does, feeling her fingers coil menacingly at the thought of Carrion, but she knows enough to understand why he'd take the utmost care in approaching the subject, if only for the sake of preserving the case so they can one day find the killer.

And she realizes that that is more motivation for him to take this with utmost care than anyone else in the room. So she nods slowly, earning her the first smile she'd seen in him since his wife was taken.

"I won't let you down."

Javan sighs, surrendering to her judgment. "Alright, I'll back you too. If you think you can handle this, then I pray to God you're right."

They say no more, disbanding then.

"C'mon," Sam says, patting Nick and Judy on their backs, "since they've got it covered, we've got a crime scene to canvas."

Judy shoots her an unimpressed look, telling her that she doesn't like being ushered like a child.

Sam rolls her eyes then huffs the ghost of an embarrassed laugh, hiding the fact that she thinks the look she gives her is adorable and doesn't help with her case at all.

Nick, on the other hand, is only thankful to be on their way out, but he spares a glance back at Ross who leans the window as they breach the door.

Nick doesn't like Ross. The fact that he's insane should be reason enough. In fact, Nick is almost certain that it's the kind of senseless madness everyone else in town will dissolve into if the place really does fall apart. A madness he fears he'll find in someone else in town at some point.

But he concedes. Because the loss of a loved one grants a man more determination than anything else. It's nothing he can relate to, but is something he can overlook any amount of insanity for.

But then Nick sees something that twists his heart, churning something terrible and grim in his gut as his mind locks onto that final image before those double doors shut before him. He almost believes his eyes were tricking him, but he is far too certain, much too gravely aware to cling to feeble hopes that it is a delusion spurned by his vexation. It is an augury sign that seeds a sensation he would soon discover is terror, dispelling all sympathy for Ross.

That in what seemed to be the long stare of lamentation in him came then a twisted, sinister smile.


	11. Anatomy of a Widower (pt. 2)

They take the Austin Terrier through town, Judy at the wheel with Sam beside her while Nick relaxes in the back, finding his laziness again after months of staying alert and stern.

Today was almost like a vacation when they brought in the arm, telling them that they will find nothing until tomorrow, but then, much to his chagrin, Sam came in with a place to investigate. Nick then clung needlessly to the idea of some relaxation, trying his best to enjoy the moment of solace in the back of the car.

But such things are short-lived, the moment of leisure dispelled the minute Judy slows down the car, calling out a curious "Gizelle?"

Nick shoots up, cracking his tired bones.

They find Gizelle swarmed by a crowd of citizens who, to their surprise, quickly disperse. They also realize that she is, in fact, quite happy. She giggles to herself, skipping in a way that is neither timid nor reserved.

Judy rolls down the window, calling out to her.

Gizelle quickly waves as she happily ambles towards them.

"Quite the crowd you had there," Nick comments. "So what's up with the fanfare?"

She squees, not at all embarrassed for some reason. "You cannot believe what just happened! I was on jury duty just now and they were about to let a thief go scot-free but I turned their opinion around." She's ecstatic, positively bubbling with so much excitement that they're afraid the little thing will faint.

Nick and Judy spare a glance between them whilst Sam fiddles with her phone in the passenger seat.

"That's a good look for you, Gizelle," Judy comments.

She glances downward at her formal wear, draped over with a flowery blouse. "Oh, it's nothing special really…"

"I don't mean the outfit. I'm talking about how you are right now. You've got a wonderful smile." Judy beams at her and the familiar blush rushes to her cheeks.

Then she remembers something. "Oh! I wanted to thank you both again for the interview. My boss at the Courier is finally putting my exclusive on the paper! It's even on the front page! Sure they did a lot of editing but it's still under my name!"

Nick only faintly worries that the article she wrote will come out nothing like she remembers. Still, the moment of joy she feels is something meant to be cherished, not spoiled because a clever fox is a little skeptical. Instead he joins in her elation, smiling up at her as she nervously smiles back.

"I'll be honest," he says, "you seemed a lot more satisfied on jury duty than you did finding celebrities for your article."

No longer looking at them, Gizelle twists her long locks with her tiny hoofed fingers. "Well, it's kind of silly, but when I'm out on the field I feel like I don't really have a grasp of things, like it's always out of my hand. But…" she turns to City Hall, "in there I feel like I'm finally in control. There's a rule book, an instruction manual, and I'm very good at following the rules of something. As long as I follow the rules, I'm the one in charge for once."

Sam perks up, ears pointed in her direction. She recognizes that sensation, the way Gizelle glows as she eyes a horizon that should be hers. It is the mile long stare of wonder and destiny, a kind of clarity you'll find nowhere else. "Then stay in charge," Sam suggests suddenly.

Pulled out of her stupor, she blinks at the woman she is embarrassed to admit she hadn't noticed until now. She also realizes that she forgot her glasses again. "Oh, I couldn't, I— wait a minute, you're Samsara Stripes, aren't you?"

Promptly confused, she nods slowly. "Yeah, I am. Why?"

"If you're with them, then you two are going to a crime scene, right?"

"Well, yeah, we're heading to the warehouses in the east." Sam thinks she wants another exclusive, which she doesn't really care for if she gets it or not.

"Wanna come?" Nick jokes.

"Sure!" she responds eagerly, grabbing onto the roof then hopping into the seat next to him through the window. For a fragile little gazelle, she is surprisingly flexile.

"Uh… Gizelle, I—" Her smile flickers.

"—am happy to have you with us!" Judy gives him a pointed glare, shutting him up.

Taking a civilian with them isn't usually advisable, but there's really no harm in it as long as they're all there with her.

Bronc Town's east side is home to no one. It harbors the junkyard and an expanse of warehouses used as local storerooms among other things. It is also widely rumored that one of them houses Bucky's extensive gun collection, which is ludicrous since the man doesn't make _that_ much money but Gizelle figures it's because he wanted more publicity and figured the rumor mill was the next best thing beyond getting a reporter on you.

The place is also dreadfully quiet, eerily even. On regular days it would seem like a far cry from the bustling town elsewhere, so incredibly barren in comparison that it almost seems like another world entirely.

Happenstance, however, would make it that the silence that fills the air has some small comfort for Nick and Judy. The town as of late is so vividly encroached in a semblance of madness that an eerily quiet place is somehow the better of two evils.

Still, Judy can't help but wonder if such a place would be prime for Carrion.

"It isn't," Sam tells her, "we looked into it but it was clear that Carrion wasn't interested in the place. Maybe because it was too easy, we didn't know for sure, but no one on the east side was ever a suspect."

"Maybe cause he doesn't shit where he eats." Nick doesn't curse, not really, but it's a turn of phrase, leaving no one but Gizelle to be bothered by it.

"We tried that angle too, Wilde. Everyone here in the east checks out," she looks out the window then thumbs in the direction of the skeleton of an abandoned office building, "even the gang in there, if they're even around anymore."

"They're not," Gizelle adds, "they all went to college."

"Those hooligans?"

"If Calvary Pride can turn from town drunk to town mayor, I don't see why the same can't be true for them."

Judy herself is skeptical. Success stories like that exist mostly in fantasy, often tacked with exaggeration and omissions. But she supposes that such tales of prospective mysticism are welcome escapes from Carrion's shadow, drawing the mind out of the kidnappings and onto something else, something productive. Perhaps they took college as escapism from the grim overlay of Carrion, or maybe they just did it to get out of town.

Either way, the peculiar silence that would often invite fear but somehow comforts instead is telling of the obscure outlook Carrion grants. The twisted sense of surrealism latches hard, morphing her sense of her own desires till she can barely understand them. And she wonders if she'll ever feel normal again, because if a murder with a killer's slip-up would make your day, what is any sane person supposed to feel about that?

Sam thankfully draws her out of her thoughts. "Take the next right." She does so, eyes drawing over the vast array of large warehouses that dot the east of Bronc Town.

Sam quickly waves at the hippo guarding the warehouses. He'd come out to meet them and open the gate, saluting her casually in greeting before he ambles off somewhere. Marco is his name, the only man from Creed's days as capo who followed him out of the mafia. A dependable sort, one Sam delights in seeing after so long because a genuine smile, unobstructed by the horrors of this town, is certainly a welcome sight.

Nick looks into the distance before him, seeing the warehouses stretch as far as he can see. "What does a small town need with so many warehouses?"

"Storage, mostly," Gizelle answers, thankful that her intimate knowledge of the town might be helping. "They store seeds, equipment, etcetera, but the town mostly shares them. A construction team moved down here to build them by request of the previous mayor who tried his best to turn it into a city. They were even sold cheap to encourage their use, but Calvary made sure that was the only thing in the east they completed."

The east side is clearly the ghost of what the town could have been but, at the same time, what it shouldn't have been. As a city it would have failed a long time ago, and Calvary recognized that, so he stopped all expansion in the east. Because farmers hold together like family, business moguls typically don't, and Calvary wanted the farmers to stay in control.

But Gizelle doesn't tell them that, shrinking away when she realizes the mere mention of the mayor's name makes Sam uneasy.

"It's this one." Nick surprises everyone by pointing out a white warehouse with a red roof.

"He's right…" Sam says. "How did you know that?"

"I knew Lorenzo way back when. When I read the report, I knew it _had_ to be his."

Sam doesn't know why he knew a criminal, deciding to just chalk it up to just being a worldly individual. It does, however, spurn the idea that perhaps he was once one himself, but days of a previous life no longer matter for as long as he works for them now and does it well.

Gizelle on the other hand is incredibly curious about it. "You used to know criminals?"

"Was a conman back in the day before I met Judy. She changed my life." He smiles at his partner, who beams back at him, not at all embarrassed.

Sam somehow finds it pleasant with the way Nick takes his past without refrain. _If only it were as easy for Creed._

"To be fair, he changed my life too." Judy chimes as she parks the car by the warehouse. "I wouldn't have made it in the ZPD the way I did if it wasn't for him."

"Sounds like the start of a good love story," Gizelle openly comments.

"Yeah," Nick says, "we get that a lot."

"Ever thought of giving it a try?"

The question silences the two, not really wanting to answer that question. But before Nick braves an answer, Sam saves them the trouble.

"They're not like that, Gizelle," she says as she opens her door, prompting the rest to follow. Judy mouths a wordless "thank you," to which she only nods at, but as Gizelle comes out from her side of the car, Sam quickly whispers to her, "at least not yet," making the gazelle giddily zip her mouth.

Judy meets them then, placing her hands on her hips as she asks on body language alone _what's going on._

Nick, realizing that he is alone with three women, then quickly passes them toward the back of the warehouse. Most other men would find this exciting, but only Judy ever excites him. The idea of Finnick being sorely disappointed in him rings rather vividly, but one quick squeeze at Judy's bushy tail, making her squeal, is all he needs to dispel those thoughts entirely. And Finnick would agree, being able to do that is well worth only ever finding one woman attractive.

But Judy wasn't about to let that lie. She pulls up beside him as the girls follow. She gestures for him to lean in and she grabs at his ear gently, whispering to him. "Don't get a girl excited like that, you never know if I'll be in heat. And I won't be responsible with what you'll find in the morning."

It's an idea that excites him terribly, blushing through cheeks and ears so vividly that he could feel them burning. He knows she's joking but it doesn't alleviate the ideas it spurns, not helped at all with the sultry gaze she gives him. "J-Judes!"

Then she laughs at him, nudging him with a quick shoulder bump that makes him laugh back. "See what I mean? I'll always end up on top."

"That a suggestion, Carrots?"

"In your dreams, Wilde."

They continue the banter, just within earshot of the other two present.

"They always like this?" Gizelle asks.

"Not really. I haven't heard them flirt before but…" She realizes what they're doing, and it's clear that they've been doing it ever since they got here.

They are each other's escape, a closeness that only clings tighter the worse things get. Flirting is one stage of their resolve cracking at the edges. What comes next she hopes never comes, because as nice as them getting closer would get, what spurns it will likely be grave.

At the back they find an old rusted door that seems cut from the thin metal wall itself.

"Why didn't we just take the front door?"

"Because it's hydraulic and doesn't open on the outside," Nick again answers before Sam can.

She wants to comment about how intimately he knows the place but again she dejects to not ask at all. But she becomes more and more curious, drawing her eyes affront to Nick.

"Key, Sam?" Judy asks.

Sam unlocks the door, the old metal creaking under the shoddy frame, pouring dust out of the room.

Inside they find towering shelves that stretch the expanse of the building, disappearing into the equally expansive darkness that swallow the walls, breached only barely by the light through frosted, dirty glass windows on the upper segment.

Their flashlights alight, piercing the darkness to meet barren, rusty shelving covered in lizards that scamper out of sight.

"Spooky," Gizelle comments before flinching at the sight of a scurrying lizard who ran much too close to her as it escaped.

"Stick together," Sam says as she ushers them through the warehouse.

Sam often wondered if Carrion took all his victims here but such a place, secluded and in a nearly barren area was exactly why Creed had every warehouse on watch on the first few weeks Carrion arrived. But they never turned up anything.

Walking through the same eerie place echoes back the desperate cries that filled the air the night they found Wolfgang. _"Creed, I need the east side scoured! Now!"_ she could still hear Bogo shout, as he blazed through the haze of the night, batting the rain out of his eyes as he sought the killer in the maze.

She remembered that expansive heat in her chest. Adrenaline, or perhaps just fury, fueled her onward till she passed Bogo by in a mad sprint as the pair raced around the building. But again they would find nothing. Carrion had long since been gone.

Finally Sam brings them to the corner of the warehouse where, in the murky shadows, is a box structure. "Lorenzo's office," she announces.

The soft edges, green paint, and general aesthetic of the thing bears a certain allure, one Nick recognizes underneath the dust.

Lorenzo Valentino had a pension for personal luxury wherever he went. And this space, if it was intended for him, would have served as his escape from the world. And if Lorenzo had any consistency with his design, inside you wouldn't even know you were in a warehouse.

It is the perfect place to hide a victim.

"This is where you found him?" Judy asks Sam as they approach the steel door.

"No, we found him outside, but this was where he was. The evidence all points to it."

"You have evidence?" Judy asks, puzzled. "Why wasn't this in the report?" She'd read it, up and down, over and over again, but there was near nothing about Wolfgang in the warehouse.

"Because we didn't want any snoopy reporters mucking up a preserved crime scene." She looks to Gizelle quickly. "No offense."

Gizelle is nonchalant, waving it off dismissively, which is strange considering her personality. But they ignore it, thankful that she isn't nervous. "None taken. I'm barely a reporter. But if you don't mind me asking, why all the secrecy if the guard outside was supposed to be enough?"

Sam sighs. "It was the closest we ever got to Carrion. After weeks of _nothing,_ we thought we'd finally found a slip-up that could lead us to him. But all we found in the end was… well I'll show you."

She presses a hand on the steel door that, with a shove, slowly opens to them. The compressed air pouring out of it tells of an airtight space, and inside, to their surprise, is a completely clean hallway, untouched by the years.

The room is so incredibly dark that Gizelle quickly looks for a light switch. She finds it quickly enough but Sam stops her before she can flick it, scaring her yet again as she flings her hand painfully over her chest.

"Don't," Sam says, "that turns on everything, even the ventilation. We don't want this place tampered with so try to keep your hands to yourself."

She nods, nursing her slight pain over her breast.

When they enter the hall, Nick feels the polished floor beneath him, a little ashamed that his dirty feet have soiled it. But more than that, he sees a dimension of a man he thought he knew everything about. "I knew the guy was needlessly extravagant but… a neat freak too?"

"He liked to keep to himself," Sam says. "From what I understand, this was his way of remembering home. A place cleaner than he was."

Nick raises a brow. "Don't tell me you actually believe that."

"It isn't true?"

"With a man like that, this place would never be home like it would be to you or me. No, to Lorenzo, home was always where he'd make the most money. The rest of us are just chickpeas dancing in his peripheral." Memories of the weasel are as bitter as they are old. Valentino is an Italian, of the families that crossed countries to escape civil war, born into hardship on foreign lands with hopes of a bright future if they toiled long enough in the sun. But Lorenzo stepped on the backs of his fellow countrymen to become who he is, a man as a sleazy as he is treacherous.

He doesn't say it openly but they understand, Nick reveled in the fact that the weasel is behind bars, a place he deserves to be in. Judy almost believes she sees his heart crack, the vestige of some turmoil, birthed by yesteryear's torments, seeping into his features. But a sigh from him buries it, betrayed by a smile that snakes back into his lips as he regards the bunny beside him.

His eyes tell her he's okay. Hers tell him she doesn't believe him.

He rolls his eyes then draws her into his side in a half hug as Sam ushers them down the hall with a quick, "follow me."

Judy looks up at the fox, sees his smile that she knows is fake, and nuzzles his side. He's gotten so emotional lately that it's starting to scare her. Because that smile is a memory of strength, a mask to hide the shattered core. And here, for only the briefest of moments, the mask disappears, shedding light onto the quivering mess underneath.

Then the smirk returns, filling a void in her she swears she never wants empty. Not here, not here in this town. Silently she holds onto sanity alongside him, clinging to the strength they must bleed off each other.

The hallway isn't very long and only has three doors on one side, not including the one they came into. The door at the end of the hall is the one Sam leads them into.

Nick squints at the immaculately clean space. It's white, almost blindingly so, worse for Nick and his night vision as their collective flashlights bounce off the pristine walls. "Carrion kept him here?"

"We imagined he did for a while." She leads them to a cubicle, lined with stainless steel that reflects easily off its surface. When she pushes the door open, they find it strange that the thing is stained over the walls. It's the only object in the room that isn't pristine.

Sam then gestures to the walls, claw marks etch it, signs of frustration and panic. She then points to some scratches dug lightly over the thin wood, they are lined with notches up to three that are clearly marked in a less erratic nature. "It seemed like Wolfgang was counting down the days, a habit of his from prison."

Sam's flashlight falls onto a pipe beside the toilet, clear signs of striation over a segment of it. "Wolfgang was chained to that pipe over there. Likely unconscious too since the rest of the room was clean."

"It still is," Gizelle comments hands tracing the pale white tiles of the wall, finding no dust. "If Carrion is so professional, then why did he leave a mess in there untouched?"

"To tell us that Wolfgang was here," Nick says, crossing his arms. Eleven years and he still leaves an open mockery in place.

Sam nods. "We can't imagine Carrion never having to be in this room, so he'd clearly covered his own tracks but evidence of Wolfgang's presence and the fact that he'd been suffering here for at least three days is a clear message to the police. That we'd failed to get here in time." She doesn't lament, that is a sensation long since passed, but her eyes still lock with scrutiny, damning Carrion beneath her half-lidded gaze.

Judy scours the room while Nick takes a step back to eye it from the center.

Nick finds the spacing of the room to be rather large, and the seat of the toilet appears adjustable all sizes. Lorenzo clearly wanted guests over. He'd get money off of them, and those that had no money knew people that did. It is clearly built to be his base of operations, but it called to mind something else. "Did Lorenzo ever use this place?"

"Never made it to the door," Sam answers. "They finished building the place, plumbing included, when he was in Orca."

Nick's eyes meet Judy's as she stands inside the shower. A quick nod prompts her to continue.

She grabs the shower's base, twisting it slowly, causing water to drip from its edges.

"Did he stink when you found him?"

"You mean Wolfgang? Yeah, he did. Like the junkyard."

"Then we can assume he never showered."

Gizelle, unlike the rest of them, is entirely lost. "Um… what does that have to do with anything?"

Judy's finger grabs a droplet of water, letting it fall off onto the floor. "Water only finds its way into the nozzle if it's ever used. So if neither Wolfgang nor Lorenzo used the shower, then Carrion may very well have."

She then regards Sam who easily hides how impressed she is. "Did you guys ever search the drains?"

"No, we didn't but we certainly will now." She pulls up her phone, quickly texting Creed.

Sam then makes for the door. "I don't think we'll find much else in here. C'mon."

She takes them to the other end of the hall, ignoring the room in the middle. "Try not to touch the chair," she says before pushing the door open.

Inside there is a rusted steel chair with a tall headrest, its legs welded to the floor. It is the only thing in the room.

The walls are lined with bright patterns and tiny holes, indicating that was once intended to be an office with the holes intended for picture frames.

It was once furnished, that much is certain, but "where did everything else go?" Nick asks.

"We found a snag of gator leather on one of the sharpened ends of shelving. Carrion took them all out, it seemed. Where to, we don't know, but he did."

A snag seems unlike Carrion but hauling furniture all by yourself can't always be as easy as hauling a single person. It does, however, spurn the idea that Carrion may not have been alone.

Sam then alights the wall the chair faces, showing them a large rectangular glass that sees into the next room. "That's one-way glass."

Nick approaches it, hand tracing the jagged frame cut through the wall. It is crude, haphazardly done with only a basic grasp of construction being displayed.

It's also stuffed with foam inside, holding the glass in place. Perhaps at an attempt to soundproof it.

"Carrion's no professional architect, I'll tell you that."

"We noticed that too," Sam says, joining his side, "but it achieves its purpose. It's absolutely soundproof." She illuminates the next room which is cleaner like the rest of the building but completely empty.

Judy tilts her head as she notices the odd texture of the walls in there. Quickly she leaves the room, Gizelle following after her.

The next room feels very much isolated. The mirror and the shut door feels more sinister in comparison, much like a prison, which confuses her.

She shakes her head, making her way toward the walls. When she presses her paw over them, she pushes it inward. "This is room is padded." The segmented bolts that pull in the cushions makes it look everything like a room in an asylum, only that it's blue instead of white.

Gizelle finds the texture of the wall herself. "Why would Lorenzo have a padded room?"

"Lorenzo didn't do this," Judy answers. She directs Gizelle to the upper edges of the padding in sight of the rough folding. "He would have hired professionals. He'd never pay for that kind of shoddy workmanship. Carrion converted this room himself."

Judy returns to them nonplussed, still dwelling in the mystery of the room. "It's padded," she tells them, "from the floor to the roof, that place is cushioned to keep someone from hurting himself."

"That raises a lot of questions," Nick stated.

"And only the barest of answers," Sam says as she stands by the steel chair. "He was tied to this chair, but notice the slots in the headrest." She shows them the rectangular slots, tiny slots wide enough to fit a pair of coins. "Even his head was tied, made to look through the glass and nowhere else. Whatever was in that next room haunted Wolfgang, and he'd been made to stare at it for days…"

Nick places a hand over the glass, trying to see a hint of something else but nothing comes to him, drawing a puzzle to him with no answers, nothing distinct. "What was in there?"

"Someone crazy?" Gizelle suggests. "It would make sense to pad a room for a crazy person."

They all thought of much the same but there is little to suggest why. "But what would that even achieve?" Nick asks, rolling the suggestion in his head.

"A reflection of madness maybe?" Judy offers. "Wolfgang went crazy, right?" she asks Sam who nods in response. "Then maybe Carrion wanted to show him what he'd become. But this is just wild speculation. We have nothing to suggest anything for sure."

Nick takes a step back and circles the room. He can only imagine the kind of torment he endured, a terrifying prospect that only draws him closer to the chair. Then he tilts his head when he notes the unaligned shape of it, one he'd normally attribute to Carrion's shoddy workmanship but perhaps that bent metal had not been achieved by accident. "It's bent slightly off the backrest," he tilts again, squinting through the dark, "but towards his back."

"As if he reached out for something…" Judy observes. She can imagine his struggling, the strain on his wrists cutting into his flesh, desperate for whatever it was he wanted. _So what was he reaching for?_ "Sam, how did he escape?"

"He broke the cuffs."

"He _broke_ them?"

"With some help… one of the chain links was clearly cut on one side. Carrion let him go, made him think he was escaping."

"But would he let go of a captive?"

"To send another message?" Nick offered.

Sam nods. "We can't be certain but you already know how much this scene meant to me and Bo. We'd never gotten so close to Carrion before but even this turned out to be a dead end. It was as if he wanted us to know that we can taste victory but never have it." The case strikes hard at Sam, a weight she'd carry her entire life. Failure isn't what bogs her down, however, she really couldn't care less about her record. It's the fact that she'd failed the victims, and would continue to do so if she doesn't somehow do everything she can to solve the case.

She bares no pride either. She watches Nick and Judy scour the room for any further evidence, and finds that she'll find no remorse if they solve it themselves. Because the glory of the job has long since passed, she's had her fair share of that already, all she wants is to pave the road to Carrion.

So when Nick finds a loose panel on the floor, all she does is light up.

"I figured he'd do this," Nick says as he pulls it up to reveal a wide pipe. "Lorenzo always loved having an escape route. If he ever got caught, all he'd have to do is jump right in here." The panel is cracked and loose, letting pints of air pool out of the grill.

It is only wide enough for a weasel, so Judy offers to go down.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Judes" Nick tells her, "you could drown down there if you get stuck."

He squints into the tiny flooded tunnel, spotting a faint golden glow that disappears only a moment later. "There's something in there…"

"Then let me jump in."

"I've got a better idea," Gizelle offers as she reaches into her purse. She pulls out some yarn which she ties to a magnet. "Sam suggests that it might be a key, so this might save us the trouble."

They take it in thanks then lower it into the water. It's hard for Nick to see through the murky water but he still catches glimpses of that same golden sheen.

He swings it about, letting it slosh around until Judy's ears perk up. She hears the muffled clink of metal and magnet in the water. With a tap on his shoulder, she prompts him to pull it up.

The key is actually just bright yellow with the Yewl brand under the paint.

"Think this is what Wolfgang was trying to get?" Nick asks Judy. It must have been on a table or something, lost when Wolfgang managed to tip it over, letting it slide into the drain.

"Yewl makes keys for doors and furniture, not cuffs, plus they're too big for them." She pulls it up to their collective light.

It is a curious thing, a token that is perhaps a gateway to Carrion. In that, there is hope in that dark room, a semblance of something that betrays the air that should have been eerie. A strange contrast that is finally not baleful.

But Sam is skeptical, taught to no longer expect much from any evidence they find. Yet, even as she tries her hardest not to get her hopes up, she still finds some solace in what the key might bring.

So she takes it, offers that her sources can find out where it goes.

They take her to the station where she'll make her calls but she doesn't go back in immediately. She allows herself to hope for only the briefest of moments when she is finally left alone, a hope she smothers till it's gone.

Years ago she gave up on the case ever being solved, made some peace that they'd never find Carrion. But now she's here, back in the Broncs to solve the same case.

The search for comfort leads her hand down her pocket then over her phone. Pulled to her ear, she makes a speed dial over her favorite number.

"Bo?"

* * *

Sam told them that it would take some time before they find out where the key goes, but Judy is much too excited to sit around and wait. Instead she asks where Wolfgang was kept after they found him.

Gizelle tells them in her stead, directing them to the only asylum in town that doesn't like being known for being the only asylum in town: the Roaming Meadows.

When they enter the large iron gates and into the property, it feels like an entirely different world they step into. The place is immaculate, expanses of an encompassing garden that makes Nick wonder what the retirement home in town looks like by comparison.

Even the air is cleaner, the sky somehow brighter, completely dejected from the rest of the town.

Had it not been an asylum, Nick would have offered to live here instead of the hotel. "Funny how the unsettling places are suddenly the most pleasant."

"Tell me about it," Judy replies as she waves awkwardly at a pale waving antelope who smiles eagerly at them, twitching and tilting her head at obscure angles. Even the antelope's madness seems comforting, at least that insanity is upfront, not hidden away behind layers of discretion.

"I don't know about you two," Gizelle meekly interjects, "but this place makes me uncomfortable."

"Crazy people not your style?" Nick asks brazenly, pulling no punches for the terminology.

"No, just the orderlies. They're always big and tough, like bouncers. I know they're supposed to be like that to handle the patients but when you remember what they used to be made to do in places like these, it doesn't make a sane person feel safe."

Judy is confused, but of course she is. The horrors of early medical practice on the less-than-sane were horrid to say the least, things the public was never really meant to know. So an innocent country girl could never catch wind of it, but a particularly curious city fox would.

So before Judy makes to ask, her partner places a hand on her shoulder and tells her that maybe she shouldn't. And if she really wants to know, Nick would tell her soon enough.

The front desk is managed by a particularly stressed hippo who is doing her very best to get her computer to work. She slaps it, causing the screen to flicker alive for only moment – brief moment of relief to her – then the monitor dies again.

She mutters some indiscernible curses before curling up from her seat as she shouts "Rudy!" through the hall beside her.

Scampering out of the arch is a pouty wombat in a doctor's coat whose legs seem to glide across the floor as if his knees were conjoined somehow. The rapid tapping of his feet rival even Judy's nervous habit of thumping, irritating her acute sense of hearing. Then he stops abruptly, regarding them as his eyes widen in some bubbling glee. "Ooh! You're those hot shot detectives from out of town, right?"

Nick flexes his arms under his rolled up sleeves. "Yeah, I'm pretty hot."

Gizelle is scarce to disagree, blushing mindlessly. She takes note of the way his deltoids bulge tightly under the garment, similarly vivid along his arms toward his clenched fists. He's not a monster of a man, but he's clearly lean, something she willfully bites her lip for.

But then she looks to Judy, expecting her to swoon but the bunny only lets loose an exasperated sigh before nudging him, mouthing a muted "cut it out."

This disappoints the gazelle. She really, truly wants to see something between them but they're so adamant about not being in love that it dashes all hope.

"We're actually here on official business." Judy pushes passed Nick, straightening herself as she takes his wrist down, urging him to relax his muscles and stop showing off. "Do either of you two know anything about Alexander Wolfgang from eleven years back?"

"I do, yeah," Rudy responds. "I may not look like it but I've worked here as an orderly for thirteen years." He does indeed look much too young but wombats have a knack for hiding their age under their thick fur. It's only then that Nick realizes the combed fur on his face, discolored enough to imitate a moustache which Nick finds to be an incredibly strange trend.

"So what can you tell us about it?" Nick asks.

"Nothing much. I handled his room only for cleaning. Orson on the other hand met him regularly. I'd introduce you but I'm not sure he's in right now."

"Oh, he's here," the hippo interjects. "Came in just an hour ago. Said something about seeing a ghost."

"A… ghost?" Gizelle asks, shaking visibly over her thin waist and knees.

"Not an actual one," Rudy corrects, raising his hands apologetically. "Orson likes to use metaphors and the occasional turn of phrase. He probably just means he saw someone he didn't think he'd see again."

 _Peculiar,_ Judy thinks as she raises a brow."Any chance we could go see him?"

"I'll have to have someone look for him," the hippo offers, coming out from behind the counter. "But that might take a while. You two alright to wait?"

"We could." Nick shrugs. It's not like it'll take any longer than finding the source of the key. "Could we take a look at Wolfgang's old room though? I can't imagine you've kept it the same but maybe we'll find something."

The wombat rolls his shoulders sheepishly. "Well… I guess you two could. But visitors have been turned away for fear of Carrion so you can't walk around looking like civilians. You'll have to dress like one of us."

"Not an issue," Judy replies in a chipper tone.

He nods as he takes them away but Judy is quickly followed by the hippo who trails behind her. "So…" the hippo begins, "you and the fox a thing?"

"If you're asking if we're involved, then we're not."

The hippo licks her lips as she nods before disappearing as they round a corner.

Gizelle, who has been closely listening in, eagerly steps behind Judy. She attempts to muster some courage to ask about it but their destination comes too soon.

They are directed to a pair of locker rooms, instructed that the orderly uniforms will be hanging along the walls so they just have to take a set.

The girls go in, leaving a smug looking Nick behind with the doctor.

Gizelle eyes the white uniform with disdain. "Did I mention that I don't like orderlies?"

"It's just a uniform it's not like you're doing… what was it that they did?"

She briefly considers telling her about the pin through the eye socket or the various lobotomies but things in town are grim enough. "I'd… really rather not say."

"Well, suit yourself, I guess."

Gizelle takes this moment to really take Judy in. She'd heard stories, a plethora of them that color her as an energetic and magnanimous little bunny despite her size. But the energy she expects isn't really there, not like it was when they first met, bubbling off her edges like an electric aura. Yet even then, the same energy she's heard stories about is somehow absent.

Judy is sweet, pleasant, an all-around joy to have, but hers is a quiet, smoldering tension. It is tinged by a muted dread, a sense of harrowing that wafts about her that kills her normally vibrant vigor. So Gizelle laments that the real her is still locked away inside, that the Judy who stands before her is still a mask that hides her truest colors.

And yet she also somehow doesn't mind. Because Judy's mask is born out of quiet resolve, to look strong and unbreakable in the eyes of the public.

It is admirable to say the least but it is a quality that is only as durable as her spirit is willing to be, one that could crack at any moment.

Though Gizelle would normally find this troubling, she doesn't. Because Nick is somehow the foil to her underlying somber demeanor, the antithesis to the tainted town, something she cherishes like the last vestige of her life before the case.

Then Judy removes her shawl, a show of her slender back followed by bare arms beside her dark tank top. Her body is shaped like that of a swimmer. A strong back and a width to her legs that accent the strength that bulges off of them. Her arms are lean by comparison, an almost disproportionate shape to them that is not as strong or pronounced as her legs that hug her jeans and accentuates her rear.

And yet her slender arms and strong back compliment her breasts. They aren't large by any means, especially for a bunny, but there is a generous curve to them that makes up for it, keeps them from sagging. She could make it as a model if she wanted to.

"Nick's a lucky guy," she comments absentmindedly as she pulls the uniform over her own back.

Judy buttons up her uniform, quickly disappointed that the one she's trying to wear is too big. "We're not dating, Gizelle."

"I know that, but he gets to look at you every day and you're certainly pleasing to the eyes. And I'm a straight woman! Imagine what it's like for most men!"

Judy chuckles. "Nick's not most men." Normally she'd be embarrassed but she knows all too well how some men look at her and it amuses her how nonchalantly Nick dances around it, taking to her side to ward them off. Nick knows she can handle it herself, but he plays the chivalry card to be funny, a take on the whole thing that respects her independence. It is only one amongst many qualities that distinguishes him.

"And you're not most women! Some women toil away in front of a mirror to look half as good as you. You're no Gazelle – not that I'm saying you aren't very pretty! – but you could be a model if you wanted to. I swear it's almost unfair."

Judy could occupy herself being elated at how openly Gizelle acts with her. She isn't timid at all, so talkative and of her own accord that it makes Judy feel like she's really made a friend. So Judy humors her, let's her ask her questions so they can keep talking like friends do. "How do you know I wake up looking like this?"

"Short fur? Big eyes? Neither bedhead nor bags are going to make you look any less attractive. I bet you look good frazzled too."

"Please, I'm not an aspect of beauty, Gizelle. I do have my bad days."

"Does Nick say you look cute when you're angry?"

"…Yes?" She's embarrassed to say.

"I rest my case."

Slipping on the white pants, Gizelle finds the silence she wants to change the topic. As smoothly as she can manage, she asks "so why aren't you and Nick a thing?"

"Still going on about that?" Judy surprises her by sounding friendly instead of exasperated, as if she is willing to be asked about it with her.

"A gal can't help it if she's curious."

"Well if you're asking if I love him, then yes, yes I do." When Judy beams it's almost like the first crack into her truest joy.

"But how much?"

Judy doesn't know how many times she's been asked this. "I don't know. I just know that I do and that's all that matters."

A silence hangs in there that makes Judy hope that this is where that line of questioning ends. But then Gizelle tilts her head, an idea sparking in her curious little mind before she asks. "Would you like to find out?"

This stops Judy, her own curiosity urging her to sit and listen. "How?" she asks, telling herself that she just wants to know what she has in mind.

"Kiss him," she replies nonchalantly, hiding her smile with her back turned. "Just give it a shot and see if it does anything to you."

"I don't think so, Gizelle," she replies coolly.

But as Judy steps out of the locker room and into the hallway, she finds that the suggestion becomes more and more captivating. _It's not like I'm not curious myself… And I could always just play it off as a joke so I could rile him up but…_

She does not believe she quite yet understands the extent of love, the word still trapped in some distinction too vague and flexile to be in any way concise.

She ties her ears together contemplatively, looking herself over in the mirror at the far wall. She has little pride for her own body, thinking it too bulky in areas too unflattering, and it doesn't help that her breasts are small. So she decides to play with what she has, sporting a half-lidded gaze that is as demure yet captivating, tail pointed up so she hopes her sway is enough.

But then she drops the act, realizing that this isn't her. Her lip tilts when the idea settles in, because it's clear that Nick is already attracted to her, what with the way he cradles her or revels in her scent. And it isn't like she doesn't think he's handsome herself, captivated by his allure and confident demeanor.

But admiration of someone's physical beauty is one dimensional and does not always equate to love. Why people assume the two must always cognate is a mystery to her because she enjoys the nondescript status quo they already have. Cuddling on the sofa on quiet rainy days, mornings spent ranting about frustrations over coffee, rides home spent staring at the iridescent neon lights of the city as the other takes the wheel for them.

The thought, however, still lingers when she makes her way outside with Gizelle. But the thought dies when she sees Nick showing off how all he needed to do was wear a doctor's coat and nothing else. He gives her a cheeky grin to accent it, pulling out a pair of glasses to complete the look.

And she laughs, punching him in the shoulder for all the qualities that make him lovable and insufferable.

So when she pecks him on the cheek, something she's done many times before just to tease him, Judy only genuinely finds it funny the way he stares at her (the hippo from earlier quickly backing off when she sees it). Whatever spark there may have been dies in her fit of laughter.

He is still stunned when she's done, and utterly speechless when she hugs him in one arm then takes him down the hall.

Gizelle entirely expected to see something come of them but Judy's ecstatic nature returns instead. It is an exchange she is happy to find nonetheless, admiring their closeness as Judy hops and skips in Nick's arm.

She wonders if it'll ever happen, but they're so adamant on being friends. _Maybe I should give up._

Rudy escorts them to Wolfgang's room but they pass by the front desk on their way. There, the hippo from earlier raps at her monitor but before Rudy could offer his assistance, Gizelle steps in. "Let me have a look at it."

"You can fix it?" the hippo asks.

She meekly rolls her hands together. "I'm no expert but I know a thing or two about electronics."

She tells them to go ahead of her since she'll likely have no input this time around. "I just really don't want to meet any orderlies."

When they arrive at the door where Wolfgang spent his last days, they find a steely determination to make something of this visit. Because they can taste it, those steady steps to the truth that is Carrion, that the hope that once billowed beneath Sam and Bogo now snakes into them.

Then they hear the sing-songs of the patients down the hall, filling the silence. A herd of them passes through a distant hallway, dancing and writhing with a joy so condense that it's envious.

They smile because there is a sense of cohesion with the clearly, visibly mad. For where the rest of the town struggles against its inevitability, here, where those already mad, who dance mindlessly in their periphery, unbeknownst to the horrors that is Carrion and his shadow, there is a bliss that comes with that ignorance.

Redrawing their attention, Rudy unlocks the door as he ushers them in. "It's been cleaned and scrubbed over the years since then, but we haven't found anything even remotely interesting in regards to Wolfgang's condition or his… captor. So I'm sorry if you'll find nothing here."

Nick finds no delusions of success, like he said to Sam on his first day here, he entirely expects to fail, but he'd like to surprise himself. Judy on the other hand has a little more faith in them, expecting the opposite.

"Yeah, the odds aren't in our favor," is his reply.

"But I'm sure we'll find something," is hers.

With a steady nod, he leaves them.

The room is wholesome, if a little small. Fern by the window, soft white bed, pale white walls with a faded green floral pattern. It is blindingly white that Nick believes he's staring at a sun flare when the light pierces the window and bounces off the walls. "Pleasant." _Dull,_ he means.

Judy takes the adjacent cabinet first whilst Nick goes over the bed. It is neatly folded and seems like it hasn't been used in weeks, so it's a shame he has to mess it up when he lifts the mattress. Propping it up on his shoulder, he scans the wooden beams and finds a plethora of furs. "Not as thorough as they could have been."

"Find something?" Judy asks as she sorts through the endless towels and blankets.

"Just a lot of fur. One of them could be Wolfgang's but I'm doubtful that will prove anything."

Judy presses against one of the panels in the cabinet and is excited when she finds that it's loose. She believes it a secret until she realizes that it's just shoddy workmanship. "This place is a little cheap."

She hears a hard thud behind her.

Nick reels his hand. He tried to reach for one of the furs but as soon as he made contact with one of the beams, it came off, not at all nailed to the bed, scattering some of the fur. "Tell me about it…"

"It's cause this room really is just for show nowadays." A voice at the door draws their attention, meeting the concerned gaze of a doctor capybara. "They say the room is haunted despite literally nothing happening in here." He takes a step into the room as they converge to him, shaking his hand when he offers it, "Doctor Orson. I heard you two came here for information on Alex?"

The informal reference tells Judy that the capybara was friendly with him, something that raises questions. "Yeah, we heard you spent the most time with him."

"I was assigned to him regularly, yes, back when I was on orderly." A semblance of a lie is there, clear as day to Nick. In the very least, he made to be assigned to Wolfgang himself, pressed the issue so he could come see him… but why?

"Did you know him personally, Doctor Orson?" Judy asks, hiding her suspicion.

"I… yes, yes I did." The capybara is clearly distressed to some degree, now that his cover's been blown. He can see it in the looks in their eyes, they're not buying anything. "We were friends when we were young – both Zootopian, born and raised – and he'd always been a loyal friend to me."

They don't question why he was associated with a criminal, such a thing isn't what concerns them. "So what can you tell us about Alexander Wolfgang?"

He is hesitant, tracing the edges of personal hauntings that have troubled him for years, because days passed have long since called into question his friendship with the misunderstood wolf who was molded into what he became through long borne strife and not by choice. But his character is not what comes under scrutiny. No, all they want to know is what happened to him, a question he never dared to ask himself. "I don't know what happened to him, but I'll be damned if I ever do."

He produces a journal from his backpack, with old bindings that somehow still cling together with weathered paper that juts unevenly over its side. He hands it to them, showing them first the name tacked over its face: "Alex."

"I could tell you a whole lot of things about Alex, a lot of it unnecessary," he says as he eyes the back of the journal, "but he was a good friend to anyone who could rightly call themselves that. Say what you like about him but he was a good man, not on the surface and certainly not in public, but he was a _good man._ "

When Nick takes it, he finds that it holds a surprising amount of heft. "What is this?"

"It's a journal – Alex's – an account of his life since I gave it to him in high school. I took it when he went missing, hoping to find any hint of where he was taken. And then I handed it back to him when he was brought into this very room. He wrote in it every day up until he… couldn't anymore."

Judy takes it from Nick, flipping through the pages to confirm. "How long have you had this?"

"Since his death."

They raise their quizzical brows. _That's eleven years ago._ "Why did you take so long to hand this in?" Nick asks.

"It's proof of many of his… activities. And I didn't want any of that getting out at the risk of tarnishing his name any further, especially in front of his own family. So I kept waiting for someone who could be discreet about it but I never found anyone… until you two." Sam and Bogo were aggressive with their suspects, particularly with Alex, but Nick and Judy are significantly less threatening, softer individuals who he feels he can approach if the stories about them are true.

"Now, I get it, he was a criminal and knew way too many people in the mafia than was reasonably acceptable, but no one deserves to suffer the way he did, and his family don't deserve any more backlash for who his son was behind closed doors. So I'm asking as his friend for you to ignore everything else about his life. I'd have torn out the page myself but I didn't want to mess up the last thing I have of him, even though I can't bring myself to read what he wrote towards the end."

Judy takes a step toward him, briefly scaring him as he shyly looks away, awaiting their judgment, taking a moment to consider regret. But then Judy speaks, a tone that is comforting and honest, one that is quiet and akin to the softer persona she radiates. "Hey, the rest of the journal, it doesn't exist."

This surprises him, staring long and hard at Judy before looking at Nick.

The fox shrugs. "We're not interested in his life story. We just want to bring him and this town justice for what happened."

Quickly and rapidly he thanks them before leaving the room, much less tense and so much less stiff than before. And Judy could see it, a weight off his shoulder, a ghost still haunting him, suddenly lifted and fluttered away. It's a relief she envies.

Nick sits on the bed as he flips through the pages with Judy joining his side.

The journal extensively details Wolfgang's exploits, and it appears that he began documenting them rather frequently but becoming less and less consistent over time. What surprises them the most is how articulate he can be. Wolfgang is surprisingly literate, describing frustrations and fears, and even his budding emotions for a local wolf girl with enough potent adjectives to write a novel with.

Which is why it's so shocking when he begins rambling instead. The senseless mutterings begin at the exact date of his arrival at the asylum, and here he seems to bare some semblance of coherence about his encounter with Carrion, trapped between a chaotic plethora of self-doubt and self-pity.

_I feel an itch creeping into my back, down my spine and into my gut, making me reel and clench, looking for warmth when nothing I do can keep me from feeling so cold inside. It's gnawing at me, snaking into my jaw so I can feel it clamp desperately for me to give in… but I can't. It's in me now, so deep and low that it feels like it's always been there. But hadn't it? He made sense in a way, and that's what scares me. Because I believe him._

The page's wrinkles indicate that he had been sobbing into the paper from here, and they can practically hear him doing so.

The ramblings still continue for a while, all throughout the week's entries but it's clear that he was suffering greatly. In between there are phrases they believe Carrion may have whispered to him. Things like _"you can't walk away"_ or " _no one would blame you,_ " things with no context muddled with overbearing fears and frustrations.

But every once in a while there's a paragraph that's coherent, perhaps when he'd taken his medication.

_I can still hear him say it. Telling me it's alright, that it's okay to give in but I can't… it isn't right, isn't it?_

Alex's mind is like a maze for the most part. Talking about the former mayor as if he was utter trash then immediately talking about how great a man he is. Then he talks briefly about his friend, Orson, who he describes as dependable before questioning his motivations and accusing him of conspiracy then reminiscing about the great times they had and how he would have taken him in as a brother if he could. A series of random topics flood the pages in a flurry, looping around itself on occasion as he'd dwell on the same idea for entirely too long and Judy surmises that perhaps he did it to distract himself, keep writing so he doesn't have to remember what happened.

There is a clear and sharp decline to him as his articulation even at the most scrambled of times seems to dip and ebb toward senselessness and mania. He's clearly delusional, pointing out enemies where there are none, imagines Carrion in his room when he can never see him and can only describe that he feels his presence.

_I am a man of cuisine, who took in caviar like a fuking condiment! and this slosh they're serving me is_

…

_Theyre wrong! All of them! Can't they see he is in here with me? he whispers to me, chanting that damn line like a curse!_

…

_Orson says everythings going to be fine but nothing will ever be fine again… never never never ever_

…

_please stop all the voices please kill them put them away so I can think strait again_

…

He's slipping, clear in his misspellings and declining train of thought. He'd go on and on in his spiel then derails it completely into nothing or something entirely unrelated.

 _It just isn't natural,_ he says with a surprising sense of cohesion on one lonely page with nothing else. But then the succeeding pages follow through with the same ramblings as before.

And then it stops abruptly on his final days, eerily hinting at the last vestiges of his sanity as it cracks and shatters.

 _The natural order of things._ It is all that is there in a single page, tucked into the corner.

 _The natural order of things. The natural order of things. The natural order of things._ Reads the next, written slowly with a cursive that draws the last "s" out of the sentence and scribbles over the rest of the page.

Then the rest of the pages erupt in a disconcerting outburst as they read:

_THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER THE NATURAL ORDER_

It repeats, over and over again, thickly through every page until there is no more written. It is spoken like a mantra, sometimes written vaguely in previous entries, making it ignorable but so incredibly clear now.

These are his last thoughts, words whose meaning remain a frightful mystery. And they fill the pages till the last, nothing else in between, coherence lost in the haze of those maddening words as they echo loud, louder than before, screaming in their heads as they hear him weep and shout till it tears his lungs and strains his throat, where his voice dies as he draws his final breath.

The journal closes in a quiet thud, and suddenly the voices that fill the air quiet.

It takes a moment for them to settle. They realize then that there is no scream, no shout, no beckoning to the heavens for sweet release, only the dreary lamentations that filled the walls, dead long ago but lingers when listened to, heard by those who dared to peer into Wolfgang's final days.

Judy takes Nick's hand without a second thought, clutches it as she releases a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. His own closes around her, a breath of his own easing as his fingers fill the spaces between hers.

"Carrion was in the same room as him," Judy observes, piercing the silence. "The padded room is soundproof so he can't have been in there."

"Then what on earth was in that other room?" Nick asks, the question hanging in the air, sending a shudder down his spine. Carrion is certainly a force to be reckoned with, but a complete and utter enigma besides.

Wolfgang never once talks about Carrion with malice, which is strange for a historically vulgar wolf who consistently insults even his friends rather colorfully. And Sam had told them that Wolfgang sustained no injuries that were otherwise self-inflicted. It's possible that Carrion didn't even touch him.

But the questions about Carrion that are unanswered can only remain as such. For now they know a few things already, clear distinctions of who their killer is.

He's male, it seems, since he is only referred to as a " _he."_ And it's likely that he worked alone, since he is singled out whenever mentioned as there is even no description of what he was made to see.

But more than that is the mantra.

"Those words… they mean that Carrion isn't sadistic," Nick says, echoing Judy's own thoughts. "Whatever this "natural order" is, he uses it to justify what he does. Carrion wholly believes that what he is doing is right, and I don't know how but he tried to pass it on to Wolfgang. We can't tell if he succeeded in what he intended, but one thing's clear," – his eyes lock with Judy's, matching her fear – "what Carrion believes drives sane men insane."


	12. Anatomy of a Widower (pt. 3)

They drop off Gizelle at the hotel before they meet with Sam again.

"It's to an unused door in a restaurant," she tells them. "Place had the door blocked off since they couldn't get in."

"They couldn't break down the door?" Judy asks.

"It's three-inch steel surrounded by cement. I don't think getting into it by force would be practical."

Nick's skepticism rises briefly. "How do your sources know if it goes there for sure?"

"They don't, but the door is branded with Yewl just like the key. Nearly nothing else like it in town so although it's not a sure thing, it's most likely." Sam fears that the key might actually belong to a strongbox tossed into the ocean, or nowhere at all, because Carrion loves messing with the police.

When they arrive, the restaurant thankfully already cleared the path for them. The steel door is in the storage room behind some shelving, which they had politely moved aside. They find it strange how well kept the storage room even is, lined with steel with a wall of strongboxes but the owner explains that that place used to be a local storage until the previous owner made a deal with the former mayor to build the warehouses so a safe storage hadn't been necessary in years.

"Then what did they say was in that room?" Judy asks as the manager walks them into the back.

"I wish I could tell you but I'm afraid the previous proprietor is no longer with us." The illustrious skunk is upright and well-formed, and Nick almost mistakes him for a Frenchman were his heavy Italian not evident.

"Old age?" Nick guesses.

"If only that were true, but they say the creature Dead Horse snatched him from the night." He says almost in a rhetoric fashion, as if he had been practicing it but they account it as him simply being a dramatic individual, a flare that he shares with his own restaurant.

"You mean Carrion?"

"Are they not one and the same? Myth or no, both are the same malign entity. I see no reason why they cannot exist in the same plane."

Nick shrugs as he offers, "because one's not real?"

"Is it? In some manner, that myth has taken shape. More real to me and the people of this town than most anything else. An idea given life, terrifying as it may be."

 _He does make a good point,_ they agree, Carrion's legend is more alive than the man himself, snaking into the town like a miasma, planting ideas of him even in the children who never knew to fear him as the uncatchable serial killer. In the years that would come since the first kidnappings came the mythology of Bronc Town, of unspeakable cults and a horse skull crows, demon in the night, the devil's work in motion. He'd come to embody an idea of a monster rather than a person, and the idea became the picture the town would recognize him as. Because imagining one of their own to be this sick bastard is much too disconcerting. And adorning it on a beast, a fictional creature, is much easier to sleep on.

There was a theory about Carrion, one that said that perhaps Carrion stopped killing because he died, be it by age or unexpected circumstance, but if that were true, then it's clear that the killer lived on despite. Because the hate for him birthed something else, more than just legends of a specter that stalked the nights. What came was a hate that morphed the cheery town into one far more somber, a distinction so clear that it spurned a worthless drunk to become mayor to save it.

"My apologies if I appear crass but when will you be done?" the skunk asks, hands tucked neatly together. "Fine as your work may be, your presence does indeed… _unsettle_ my patrons."

"Just as soon as we're done," Sam replies, patting Nick and Judy's shoulders. "And with these two, I'm doubtful it'll last longer than an hour."

"Ah, yes, most excellent."

When they reach the steel door, the skunk stands next to it, presenting it like a piece in an auction. "Here it is, the enigmatic scourge to my artistic balance in this room," he says as he rolls his hand in a showy fashion. He then eyes the key Nick pulls out of his pocket, gloved hands pulling it out of the ziplock. "Perhaps when you are done with it, we might… commandeer that key? Make use of the room underneath ourselves?"

"By legal right it's yours," Sam says, placing her fists on her slender hips, "but you can't touch it until it stops being a crime scene."

"If it is only a matter of time then I will be most patient."

Sam realigns her gaze to the door then toward the room. This would all be much easier if they had the old surveillance footage but she's doubtful Carrion would let such a thing slip by. He probably cleared all the data too, making this as difficult as possible for them.

Before Nick places the key in, he sees a slight indent in the wall beside. A gentle touch reveals that the wallpaper is hiding a hole underneath. "What happened here?"

"We tried to get through the cement to pass the door but… we only found more steel."

Judy rustles underneath her shawl, tilting her head to the manager then Nick. "That means this isn't a storage room. If it's fully lined with steel then it's a bomb shelter!"

"Well, I won't lie, the previous owner was rather… lavish. It would make sense if he built one with all the money he had."

"But why would he build it at his business rather than home?"

Sam sighs, rolling her shoulders before falling onto the wall as she leans on it. "It's so he could steal from the strongboxes if things ever got dire."

They look to her as if she'd grown a second head. Against their collective gaze she only tilts her lip, trying to decide if she should explain herself or not but she supposes they need context. "Look, I met the guy on a few cases before. Real greedy deer who went by Basset "Big Money" Melburne at the casinos in Sahara Square. He was a liar and a cheat so it should be no surprise that he'd pull off a stunt like that."

The skunk is the most taken aback, unsure how he should approach it but he isn't one to stay silent. "Does it not bother you that the man is dead?"

"Of course it does. Irate as the man was, he was still a citizen of the state, a victim to a case. Even criminals deserve some sympathy and he was no exception to that."

"Is this Carrion not a criminal?"

"Basset, Wolfgang, Bellows, _they're_ criminals. But Carrion…? He's not a criminal, he's a monster."

Nick takes initiative to unlock the door, placing the key into a lonely little slot on the side, springing hydraulics behind to life, twisting around the key as it rotates it in a full circle. Nick heard about these needlessly complicated locks before, the kind with too many gaps inside to make a mold and the hydraulics alone would shatter most lock picks. It is a mechanism for the rich and extravagant, not at all subtle or elegant, nothing like Carrion would usually be, which does spawn some doubt in him.

And yet, as the pressurized door finally releases and it swings open, showing them the side of the apparently five inch (not three) steel door as it nearly slams into the adjacent wall.

"I suppose this is where I'll be off," the skunk announces as he leaves the room.

Judy's flashlight is the first to pierce the downward dark beyond the door. Nick and Sam follow after, their night vision working in their favor for only a little while until it becomes much too dim, prompting them to pull out their own lights.

The descent takes a full five minutes over the large, almost sloped, steps. "Looks like it was designed for an elephant, not a deer," Nick comments as he skips over some of them.

"Uh… well…" Sam awkwardly rubs the back of her head. "I guess it makes sense. Basset _was_ into very large women."

Nick honestly didn't know how to react to that, so he nods instead. "At least we know he custom built it."

At the bottom of the steps is another door, also steel but it has no nob. Sam presses into it, jolting the pressurized door to open for them.

Inside, the lights flicker on, flushing out the dark.

Aside from the dull cement walls, the room would have looked rather homey, pleasant even.

They find a wooden bed, king-sized for obvious and best left unspoken reasons, a desk with an old green typewriter that seems to be covered in paperwork with a corkboard above it. Asides from the cabinets and an old widescreen accompanied by even older movies and a shoddy sofa, there is another large steel door set on the far wall. Curious, Judy ambles toward it but quickly realizes that the window of it is too tall for her to see through.

Nick on the other hand makes his way to desk, clambering upwards from the seat and onto the desk's face. Immediately he notices a name tacked onto the surface of the paper. "Raymund Buckle?"

Sam immediately joins his side as Judy hops onto the desk with him. "That's one of the old victims," Sam says. "Holy fuck did we just hit the jackpot?"

Quickly, Sam searches the papers herself, the two following after.

The papers are detailed descriptions of the victim-to-be. None of it is handwritten however, only meticulously typed. "He clearly didn't want this being traced back to him," Judy comments, pulling out a swab to dab the ink with. They can at least see if the ink manufacturer could lead to anything.

They detail his daily pattern, where he regularly eats, who he knows, where he visits, when he's alone. He seemed to have been watched like a hawk before Carrion even considers striking. "So this is how he does it," Nick comments.

"It's never impulsive," Judy says as she weaves between papers about his job at the construction site on the east side of town and another about his personal relationship with a sheep girl, "he finds out everything he can so he can decide when to take them."

"We're dealing with somebody far worse than we thought…" Sam bites her nail, unsure if she should feel excited for knowing more or fearful for the same. "Because if he did this everyday, even if he planned days ahead, it still means that he poured in hours of work to do what he does and just as long to appear doing everything a normal person does."

The documents seem to end abruptly on a note about him visiting a flower shop. "That's where he was last seen," Sam comments as she scans the paper.

"He leaves nothing to chance," Judy says as she settles down a fanned set of papers, looking over them in broad strokes. "Carrion makes sure he can get away with it first before doing anything."

They gather the evidence, praying to some force beyond them that they might hold a finger print. They even dust the typewriter for prints which, unsurprisingly, comes out fruitless.

"If Carrion lost his key, then he left this all behind when he couldn't get back in," Nick comments as he dusts the drawer handles for prints. Again, nothing.

Judy nods, Sam merely huffing her approval.

Nick then pulls out the drawers, most of them empty, one with a stack of unused paper. But at the very last drawer at the foot of the desk is a large folded plastic map. Pushing the typewriter aside, he lays it out for them to see.

The map contains waters and trees of a likely local forest. There is a set of drawn lines that cut through the plastic print, weaving outward from a single entrance then snakes into the waters. "What's this for?" Sam asks, looking at it at different angles until it becomes clear.

"Judging by the water density, I'm assuming it's a swamp," Judy replies, running her finger over it. "Think it might have something to do with the hunting club?"

"He could be using it to frame them," Sam deduces, hoping she's right. She likes the hunting club here, even if she won't admit it. Thinking of any one of them being Carrion leaves a sickening sensation in her gut.

They disperse then, pulling away with the map in another bag.

Nick and Judy decide to go for the steel door whilst Sam offers to take charge of the rest of the room.

Again, the door has light hydraulics that give way at just the right nudge, but unlike the previous room this one leads to a dry and heated. Inside is a threshold of something unpleasant, a hint of it is a light stench in the air that wafts uneasily over their sensitive noses.

When they step in there's a low echo that thrums through the room, and they can imagine Carrion's own menacing footsteps trailing along this floor toward its nether.

Judy notes the exhaust over the upper end and the streamers that run over it, having long since been broken. "This is probably the cold storage where they store the food."

But there's nothing that fills the empty shelves. "No food though," Nick speaks too soon when he finds a wide freezer.

Even here there are no prints.

Nick then places his hands firmly on the lid, nodding to Judy who eagerly waits to see what's inside. But before they can even look into it, they quickly discover that the freezer's AC is broken and what they find is a horrid odor that seeps through over the open freezer and pours into the next room until even Sam can smell it. "Oh, sweet Jesus, what is that!?" she calls out from the next room.

Braving the stench, Judy tugs at Nick's shoulder who has already tied his snout shut with a handkerchief. With her shawl guarding her face, Judy then hops onto Nick's shoulders then peers into the freezer.

Inside there is a slush of something rancid, its scent so incredibly dense that it almost physically pushes her off her perch. They aren't completely familiar with it just yet but they've already had an encounter with the smell just last night. They're no experts but it's familiar enough to discern. "That's the smell of decay," Nick points out.

Judy takes a closer look into the freezer. She sees sludge on the floor of it that she can't make sense of. That is until she sees the stump of some bone. "It's a limb." It's only the one piece but it's certainly more than what they were expecting.

"Chop up a body and it's easier to get rid of," Nick comments as he shuts the freezer for them. "If the map is in any way related, then we can assume he fed the bodies to the crocs."

"It isn't as thorough as it could be," Judy adds, thankful for the breath she can finally have after she unwraps her shawl, "having crocs eat the bodies is no guarantee they'll do the job cleanly but it's certainly a theory to go on. But why is there only the one limb?"

"Maybe he missed it?" Nick isn't satisfied with his answer either, but since Carrion can indeed make mistakes, it can't be completely debunked.

Sam, having resisted all temptation to join them earlier, finally walks into the room. "Carrion never slept here. There's a rise to the bed that means that it was never touched and neither was the sofa. He was here on business and nothing more."

Nick shakes his head, clearing away the stench that still lingered in his keen snout. "That business apparently involved a severed limb. It's wrapped up in cling wrap but done in a hurry since the stench is pouring out of the gaps."

"Another limb?"

"It's decomposed in there, but the bone is unmistakable," Judy answers, uncomfortably shifting in place as the scent still mildly lingers.

"Do you know what kind?"

"If we had to guess, a wolf's lower leg if I'm getting the length right. There's a thin gap in the bone so it doesn't belong to most other mammals. It's otherwise definitely canine or a large vulpine. Too small to be most felines too, but it could belong to a lynx or something."

Sam manages to contain her elation. Certainty, it is the stable ground for which all her confidence is born. It's empowering, makes her feel like she has control of the chaos that this case bleeds into her. "This is good," she says quietly. "We know that he chops them up and likely tosses them in the swamp. We can now be one-hundred percent certain that he studies his targets before taking them,"

Nick and Judy don't comment, keeping to themselves as they let Sam revel in their new evidence. Because, yes, they now know what Carrion does, grim and sick as it is, but they are nowhere closer to finding out _who_ he is.

Carrion's identity is what they need, it's what ends the nightmare they've stepped into. And it feels so close somehow, nearly within their grasp but there's nothing to suggest that they have. Hope, it seems is what finds them, fills the cracks and makes the room feel like somewhere they can relax. But it is a desperate hope, begging what powers there be that what they've found will lead them to Carrion.

 _Tiny victories win the day after all,_ Creed would tell Sam. So she delights in it, because this is certainly not tiny.

So they take their time to gather what they need, samples upon samples, braving the stench in the freezer, and are glad when it is all over.

Judy calls Terence by accident, asking for a team to canvas the place and take out the freezer, forgetting that he's out of town. The tiny conversation it sparks lightens the air as Nick calls Liz with his own phone. And even Liz is elated, saying that Reeder has asked her to dinner to cheer her up after the fiasco that morning.

Perhaps it is the long day they've had, having run around the town when it isn't even two yet, but then they relax in a corner in the room, laughing and talking like they hadn't done in what feels like an eternity.

Silently Judy wonders if they could stay there, lost in the mirth that is elsewhere, and nowhere near town. Because beyond the steel door just above is the world Carrion thrives in, where his shadow is clear and grave, where the town sputters and bumbles as they struggle to stay sane, and she would give anything to forget that world existed.

Nestled in the crook of Nick's neck, she makes to remember times much simpler and kinder, breathing in his scent as she remembers days left waking up next to him when they were feeling particularly friendly with each other.

She only hopes that she'll find those days again, to live them so she can tell herself that they aren't dreams, that they were real and will one day be again.

* * *

After an hour in the restaurant, Judy gets a frantic call from Liz while they're in the parking lot.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know who else to call but we've got a _major_ problem," Liz says over panicked breaths.

Nick is all but certain that Ross is somehow to blame.

"Slow down, Liz. What's going on? Tell me _slowly._ " Judy's tone is leveled, calm, recognizing Liz's harried tone like the ones her younger siblings used to make.

Liz takes a deep breath, biting her lip before she speaks. "It's Ilia Mellivora. She's here in City Hall. I would have called sooner but I only recently found out how upset she is. Tali's here trying to talk her down but she's not doing too well and Ilia's so adamant to speak to Calvary once she musters up the courage to walk in there. I don't know how she knows about An but it's clear that Ross failed. We need help here, someone to talk her down cause we can only hold her back for so long. Please tell me you can come here and fix this!"

Nick and Judy's eyes meet, a determined look to them that means they have to follow through with their original idea. It's a little much, asking help from someone they've only known for a few days but they don't know Calvary well enough to be much help on their own. "We have an idea," she tells Liz, "but we'll need time to get help. How long can you hold her?"

"I'm sorry, I really can't say."

Sam huffs, a poisoned breath escaping her. "I'll do it. I'll hold her off so Calvary can keep his integrity. Thirty minutes is all I can guarantee so whoever you bring to him better be the best you two can offer." Quickly she leaps into her convertible, a red Savannah Svelte, and is gone in a flash.

Nick and Judy waste no time hopping into their Austin Terrier and ending their call with Liz before speeding off to Stable Village to the Hector residence.

When they arrive, Savory is closed for some reason. A few knocks on the glass door yield nothing as all inside the bakery is dark, closed in the middle of the day.

They fear the worst.

Instead, the two go around, greeting the guard to the neighborhood, then looping to the back of the bakery to the Hector home.

"Think they're home?" Judy asks as she approaches the porch. She doesn't wait for his answer, knocking on the door soon after. "Marcus!? Marshal!?"

As Nick kicks his feet over the grassy front yard, he notices that the garage door, which is made of surprisingly thin and lightweight wood, is slightly ajar. It is a delicious opportunity, a call back to his days as a con man.

He looks around and quickly spots a rather portly cheetah cub, one that reminds him of a particularly jolly friend of his back in Zootopia. He grins at the sight, calling out to him. "Hey, kid!" This catches the his attention.

Nick gestures for him to come over. Children are usually taught to not talk to strangers, he knows, and he really shouldn't be encouraging them, but being told not to do something is exactly how you get kids to do them. So when the kid quickly runs towards him, there is some pyrrhic satisfaction that the world, more or less, still works the same.

"Nick," Judy asks as she walks down the porch, "what are you doing?"

"Getting us in." Nick presses his foot under the garage door, raising it slightly, steals a quick glance at the size of the oncoming child, then raises it just an inch higher.

"How?"

He winks at her as he pulls out his wallet. "Trust me."

When the child arrives, Nick licks his thumb then swiftly pulls out a twenty. "Wanna make twenty bucks?"

"What's the catch?" the boy squeaks, eying him with mild suspicion.

"You have to catch it." Nick's deft hands fold the bill into a rather rotund box.

The kid fixes him with a determined look, one that tells Nick he's ready. With a nod, Nick raises his hand with the box, then underhand tosses it under the garage door.

The cheetah tries to pounce after it but it's already inside. So he scampers forward, tries to crawl under but is suddenly stuck under the door. This doesn't scare him, however, making to wiggle out of it and into the garage but the width of his body presses under a little tightly.

"Oh, you poor thing!" Nick announces a little too loud in mock concern. "Let me, an officer of the law, help you, with that." He then grabs the garage door full in his grasp then, with a little more effort than he thought he'd need, pulls it upward just enough for the kid to scamper in and the pair to follow after.

"Nick, this is trespassing," Judy scolds in a grit whisper, tugging at his arm.

"I don't know about you but I just saw an endangered child, _a citizen,_ and came to help—" flips down his badge which is pressed inside his wallet, tapping its golden surface, "—like I was _sworn_ to do." He then puts it away when she gives her an unimpressed look. "Besides, not like you haven't pulled off anything similar."

She doesn't make any further argument, tilting her lip in surrender. Because time is of the essence and wondering if the Hectors are home is a question best answered sooner rather than later. So his grin grows and all she can do is sigh and punch him in the shoulder.

Then the cub pushes the adjacent door open as he curiously steps in a little further in the house.

"Hey, don't do that!" Nick nearly shouts, scaring the child.

"Sorry…" the kid shrinks before twiddling his thumbs over the ball. "So… do I get to keep this?" He waves the folded bill to them.

"It's yours, kid," Nick says, shrugging, "you earned it. Now go on, we got police business to do."

He nods happily. "Thanks Officer Wilde!" he shouts before leaving.

Nick isn't actually surprised he was recognized, and with the barely contained excitement the cub holds while staring at Judy a little too long as he jogs out, Nick can tell he recognized her too. There aren't many times when they'd be alright with being recognized for their fame, but this is a rather pleasant exception. The allure of childish ignorance is bliss after all, and glimpsing it after everything is a breath of fresh air.

They hear footsteps behind them. Through the now open door and down the steps is Audrey, pulling down her shirt over her breasts in a hurry to answer the knock from earlier.

Nick and Judy politely look away but it's too late. She spots them and screeches, then covers herself meekly. "Uh… uh…!"

"Audrey, hi!" Judy greets, walking to her nonchalantly. "We're looking for Marcus, have you seen him?"

She doesn't respond, still much too embarrassed to speak any of the many responses that run through her panicked brain.

It only worsens when Marshal runs down the stairs in only his boxers, calling out "Audrey!? Are you alright!?" before stopping dead in his tracks as he watches the officers with a shocked stare. The usually calm and collected pig is suddenly a blushing, frozen mess.

Nick, not wanting this silence to last, claps his hands and speaks slowly and calmly. "How about me and Carrots—" he places a hand on her shoulder, "—go into the garage while you two get tidied up and we'll meet back here in five minutes and forget all of this even happened?"

"I won't lie," Marshal says finally, "I do like the sound o' that."

"Great!" Nick claps his hands again, turns around, then ushers Judy back into the garage.

The door shuts behind them and the pair lets out a held breath. "Look at that, Judes," she thumbs in their direction, "we made _that_ happen!"

She leans against the wall, rather content with herself. "Yeah, we did."

Most normal people would remain embarrassed by what just happened, but they aren't most people and there are certainly more pressing matters at hand anyway. But Judy does envy the bliss of what everyone else is sure is romance, and yet the envy is fleeting, there and gone in the next moment because when she looks to Nick, she realizes that she has no need for their mysticism. She is content where she is and what she has.

Nick on the other hand is adrift in the idea of her. Because what he has with Judy is so much more than he deserves or can fully comprehend but he does not envy the bliss of romance. It is an emotion all the world tells him he needs. But love is a sensation described as irretrievable joy, a sense of security and lack of want, because all you could ever want, and all you've ever looked for is with that other person… and Nick is almost certain he already feels that way.

There is no need to confuse what they have with _love._ What they have is enough. No need for want. And yet the thought still lingers between them, a smile exchanged that is simple and familiar, alight in those lingering emotions that they cannot yet gauge or explain.

Minutes pass and the footsteps trailing down the stairs draws the pair's attention. But when Nick finally takes his eyes off Judy, he sees a familiar sight: a white boat engine with a red streak, the brand _Seaworthy_ on its side.

When the door opens, Nick cannot contain his excitement. "This is a Seaworthy engine! My dad used to have one when I was a kit. Do you guys use this one?" He looks to Marshal who is more than a little surprised about his eagerness.

"'Fraid not," Marshal replies with a tilt to his lip, "broke down due ta' disuse."

"Disuse?"

"Ain't much in town that can accommodate it. Maybe Logan's Passage but only madmen tread that river's waters now. But Pa used to take me to Orca with it and we'd strap it onto a rental boat then sail off inta' the open ocean. Ma even used to go with us when she was still alive. Made the best pastries ta' take with us." Marshal spares no hint of sadness at the mention of his mother, clearly having been over it for the longest time.

"Now, I know ya'll ain't here fer' small talk," Marshal begins, a little embarrassed to segway right to the point, "so I'll get right to it, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Marcus, actually," Judy says, "we're here to ask for him. Is he home?" They try their best not to appear rushed because there's sense in inciting any more panic than there already is. Though they know that Marshal can keep a leveled head, it's clear that shy little Audrey might be less resilient.

"He's actually in the basement right now. Pa went down there to tidy up. I'll go get 'im." Marshal then ushers them into the living room before walking through an arch into the hallway out of sight.

There is a large yellow sofa here, an ugly color that clashes with the green and white floral walls. The drapes here are also a gaudy purple, made of some silk and woven with a light floral design, which sadly clashes with the golden drapery rod.

Audrey notices the way they eye the room and giggles to herself, catching their attention.

"She was colorblind," she tells them, making them give her a look that asks her just who "she" was, making her laugh lightly again. "Karvina, Karvina Hector. She was colorblind so she just picked anything that felt nice. This room is really more functional than it is decorative."

"You seem to know her well," Judy comments, smiling at the elated young badger.

"I did. I loved her very much too, like a second mother." She walks around as the officers sit, tracing her fingers over the furniture in reminisce. "I remember the first time I came in here as a child. I loved the colors then, reminded me of all those cartoons, so I walked through this space thinking I'd stepped into one."

Hers is a quiet little smile, curved over her tiny lips in silent reverence of the days gone by. She is adrift in the mysticism of days now gone, of times in childish ignorance that boiled the world down to meal times and naps.

Judy sees it, that sparkle in her eye and the thinly veiled bliss, and fears that it means that her budding love for Marshal is only serving as an escape to those days.

"You're here to catch the killer, right?" Audrey asks suddenly.

"We will, yeah." Nick's immediate and nonchalant response surprises her and Judy both.

The smirk he shoots Judy earns him a soft jab, followed by a collapse onto his shoulder. Because his laidback attitude is the foil to her weariness, able to pull her back when she's thinking too hard. A contrast to her own altruism that spurned him to become an officer of the law.

Marcus then walks into the room, dusting off his hands over a particularly dirty part of his arm, Marshal following after him.

The older pig quickly regards them, before sending off Marshal to go off with Audrey, the couple waving goodbye to them.

"Well I ain't usually one ta' welcome trespassers into my own home, but if ya'll are here, then I'm guessin' it's somethin' important?"

"Yeah," Judy responds, giving him a solemn nod. "We need your help."

He tilts his head in confusion, more than just a little worried. "What about? What happened?"

"We'll show you," Nick says. "We're also kind of in a hurry so maybe it's best we continue this conversation in the car?"

Marcus doesn't make to argue, quickly walking them out to their Austin. They explain the situation to him then, lamenting about the state of the town which, to their surprise, Marcus already knows very well about. They aren't sure if Marcus is part of an inner circle tasked with the stability of the town, but he certainly fits the bill if there ever was one.

He tells them that he knew this would happen sooner or later. He's also fairly sure Creed saw it coming too, but of course he'd remain silent. "Denzel always did trust Calvary a little more than he really should have. I can only imagine what he's feelin', knowin' that he was wrong about the one thing he was certain about."

It isn't long until they reach City Hall, but when they arrive they are greeted by the apprehensive looks of Barnaby and Clementine who frantically call them over to the front door.

"Liz said you two were bringin' someone who can help?" Clem quickly asks under harried breaths.

"We have," Nick says as he hops out of the car. He looks between the two. "What's wrong?"

"Sam was too late," Barns replies, "Ilia's already in there!"

Judy reacts quickly, taking Nick's arm then ushers him inside, Marcus, the dexterous pig that he is, follows quickly behind.

Inside they meet the concerned looks of deputies and a few of the staff. But when they reach the top of the steps, they find some of the deputies crowding the door to the mayor's office. Liz is trying to disperse the crowd but the tiny otter isn't making a dent in the mob, even if Reeder is helping. Because two otters aren't any more threatening than one. Which prompts Sam to come out of the corner to growl at them, finally scaring them off.

"This is _fucked!_ " Sam says to Nick and Judy through grit teeth after scowling once more at an approaching deputy. Then she spots the portly pig jogging after them. "You brought the _baker_?"

"He's impartial and a lot smarter than he looks," Nick offers quickly.

"I already know that! I've already _met_ Marcus, but do you really think he can fix this?" She doesn't sound accusatory, her tone laced with a silent plea. The look she gives them tells them that she'll back their decision, whatever it may be, but she only hopes that they have the strictest confidence that this will work.

Marcus is already by their side and he meets Sam a dignified but apprehensive expression that tells her that he isn't sure himself. "I don't think we rightly have any other choice at this point."

He eyes the door, knows the hell that breaks in there, and braves it. Nick and Judy follow suit, quickly shutting the door behind them as Sam gives them an affirmative nod and stands guard.

Sobbing, barely contained, is what greets them at the door. They expected to find a furious mess and a lot of screaming, but instead they are met with the wreck of a woman crying endlessly in front of an equally ruffled man.

They also find that Ilia Mellivora is a lioness, not a badger. Which raises a flurry of questions they intend to ask later on.

She is tall and lanky, almost as pale and thin as Calvary himself, might have even been mistaken as his sister under different circumstances. Even their expressions match in some odd symmetry as the lioness is seething and aching inside, Calvary is much the same, face twisted in a feeble attempt to contain the poisonous emotions brewing between them.

"What about me isn't good enough, Cal? What's _wrong_ with me?" She isn't sobbing anymore, her voice only quaking with the torment she feels trickling down her harried throat.

"Nothin's wrong with you, darlin'."

Ilia has already asked about why _her,_ why _Liandra._ And the answers still burn, the telltales of old friends winning over what she felt was a much finer match. And to that lies the question she didn't want to ask, because it means reevaluating who she is, a question she is too young to grasp well enough when she was so certain of what kind of person she is just yesterday. "Then what is it, Calvary? Tell me…!"

Marcus spots the quiver in Calvary's lips and knows well the venom even the kindest words from him will manifest. So he steps in, his footsteps intentionally louder to grab their attention.

Calvary looks to them as they approach, whilst Ilia doesn't even bother.

"Marcus, now is not the time…"

"I happen to think it is," he says calmly, a look to him that is serious yet soft, "I happen ta' think it's about time."

Marcus takes Ilia's hand and rubs over the back of it with his thumb. She wipes a dry tear as she looks down at him, and is so embarrassed that she looks away. He cradles her hand in his with his gentle touch, a show of strength he wants to pass on to her. One that is familiar.

"Lia," he says slowly, "you're an excellent woman. A fine young thing that most men would clamor for. You're a scholar, smarter than most folk I know, wiser than any other young adult your age, but you've hitched too much on the heart of one man, and you've all but forgotten about yourself and the strength you were meant ta' have."

She meets his gaze and does her best tense in his grasp, pooling her heart into his hands as she wrestles with the ache that burdens her heart. She is quivering, teetering off the edge of her once steely, impenetrable resolve, now writhing in the flood of herself as her rationale dwindles but struggles still to find it.

"This ain't you," he says, barely above a whisper, leaning in toward her as he fixes her a solemn, soulful gaze, "this aint the Ilia I know, the girl who saved her batch from bein' jobless and pull 'em off the streets, ain't the girl who helped save this town from fallin' apart. You can't forget that strength. Ya can't forget what makes you who you are. The you that's brave and kind, the bulwark ta' this town."

"Now I know you're fixin' ta' find love. Trust me I know what it's like to put yourself out there in the hopes that something great and life changing will happen. But ya' gotta take that hard step like a big girl and accept that he might very well not be that man for you."

She doesn't want to think that, unwilling to accept that the center of her life was nothing more than a conjured illusion she kept fooling herself with. But then she sobs again, finding no reason to deny the truth.

She kneels, collapsing into his arms as he caresses her back.

Marcus then gestures for Nick and Judy to approach, then he hands her to them, leaving her cradled in their arms instead, whimpering as she scolds herself for her own foolishness.

Then Marcus rises, turns to Calvary who is a quiet mess brooding against his desk.

"And what do you have for me, Marcus? I ain't got the woes you can fix with honeyed words."

"Those problems only they can fix—" he gestures to the officers, "—but the ones I can are the ones that you don't know are even there." Marcus speaks softly like he always has, approaching the lion slowly so he doesn't feel threatened.

"Now An's a fine woman, I'll tell ya' that much, but right now she ain't right for you or this town. At least not yet." Marcus's eyes are filled with regret, tearing at him from the inside because he's asking a friend to surrender his happiness for the good of the town. It is a jab at his heart he can't deny, one he can't avoid because it's important. "I don't want ta' have to tell ya' to give up what you love… but I got no choice Calvary. Ya' need ta' see this for what this is."

The words sting Calvary, drive hard until he's sure he can't contain it but he does. Because Marcus is a figure of stability and wisdom, a man he has long since regarded as a dependable, altruistic friend. And he's always right. But _God,_ does he wish he isn't. "I _love_ her, Marcus. I got no one else without her." It comes out of him like a whimper, gritting his teeth as he holds back the weight in his chest.

"You're grievin', Cal. How on earth can you call yourself an honest man when what you call love could very well be a lie you tell yourself. Now I've always wanted An and you to find each other, but this, right now, it ain't love. It's desperate, it's grief, for the both o' ya. Ya' knew this would happen, ya knew this could tear this town apart! We'd talked about this…"

"I've no illusions of what you done, Cal. You didn't forget, ya' never do. Ya' just didn't care. And how could you not? Losin' what you did… hell, I'd have done the same." He then takes a steady step toward Calvary, then clenches a fist to his chest, a plea in his eyes that draws Calvary to face Marcus with all that he hides and lays it bare. "But we ain't here for us. Not you, or her… nor the folk we lost. We're here, in this room, for the town we were raised in."

"And you can't forget that, or tell yourself that you did. Cal, we need you back with us, we need our mayor again, watchin' this town. There's less of us now, and every loss is a knife in the gut, killin' us too just the tiniest bit, sometimes a little more than that. Cause Carrion's still out there doin' what he does, and unless you're willin' ta' shape up, and keep doin' them hard, entirely unfair, yet _selfless_ sacrifices… we ain't gonna be able ta' keep this town together."

Calvary clutches his mane in his fist, writhing as he sobs and shakes his head. When he drags his paws off his face he is completely distraught, gritting his teeth as he fights a scream. "He's won, Marcus. We tell ourselves that we've kept this town in one piece. But we can't deny it, we're already on the verge o' losin' this town."

"Just last week I got a report about a high schooler with a revolver, armed with it cause he wanted ta' protect himself. Folk here are scared, Marcus, and I am too. I just lost Kayla and I don't think I can stand losin' anyone else. She was everythin' ta' me! Sometimes I wonder what the damn point is anymore…!"

"We're still losin' ta Carrion. And he's gonna keep winnin' until this town disappears. And roots be damned, Marcus, it ain't worth stickin' around anymore. Don't ya see? We lost. And we'll only stop losin' people if we _leave._ " Calvary knows he should never leave, the weight of the town still on his shoulders, but should is very different from can, and he can feel himself very leaning in that direction.

" **Don't!** " Ilia shouted, stepping between them. The red circles around her eyes are laced with a pinch of anger, the kind she'd use to slap him were she any less gentle a soul. "Calvary you can't abandon us. I don't know how I feel about you and me but this town **needs** you."

"But what's the point, Li? Another one of us is gonna be gone tomorrow. And it could be you, or me, or that scared little boy. And there's nuthin' we can do about it!" The worried look she gives him is mirrored in his own, and perhaps she would have conceded then, because he's right. The scared child was Bucky's own son, and she'd seen him just before then, happy as ever, then she saw the light in his eyes fade the very next day, cracking a hole in his heart as his very innocence was torn out of him. But she doesn't want to believe that all is lost.

"You could keep this town afloat," Nick offers, quickly waving his hands to placate Calvary before he can retort. "Now I know what you're thinking, _it's not that simple._ Trust me, I know. But we're close, I can _feel_ it. Carrion isn't infallible, he's a person, like you or me, and he makes mistakes, and he can be caught. When I first came here I never expected to get as far we did, but here we are, so much closer to Carrion than anyone else has in eleven years."

The revelation of their progress shocks the room. Because even if Nick is stretching it, he isn't wrong. They are so much closer to the truth and Judy feels it too. She can sense that Carrion's identity is just within reach, not too far down the road. But perhaps it's only a feeble hope, but hope is exactly what they need.

Judy takes a step beside Nick, his tail whipping behind her to press against her lower back, letting her know he's got her. "But we can't do anything if this town spirals out of control," she says, "And I know it's a lot to ask of you… of all of you, _really,_ but for the sake of this town and everyone in it, every man, woman, and child, we need you to take this stand."

Calvary does not know how to respond. In part, he doesn't want to. He wants to give up, let the town fester cause he's already had too much heartache. But then Marcus speaks again. "Listen to them, Cal. We're close. It won't be eleven hard years of keepin' a mask on. We've dealt with worse. All we gotta do now is keep the bedlam at bay until they finally catch this bastard."

"Carrion took my brother, he took Kayla, and he took a lot more folk that don't deserve whatever the hell he gave them. He tore the heart outta this town, and I think he's done enough. It's about time we put him away. And we can only do that together."

The lion's response is caught in his throat, tangled in ambivalence and some semblance of doubt. But he fights it off, heaves a few hard breaths, then manages to pull out what remains of his resolve, nodding slowly.

Ilia hugs him suddenly, thankful for his strength. He takes only a moment to respond, hugging her back as he buries his face in her shoulder.

Nick then takes Judy's hand, feeling himself getting a little emotional. When she looks at him, he gives her smirk, though not quite as smug as he'd usually be. She responds by resting a head on his shoulder, tracing her fingers down his arm.

There is some appeal to hope, one that is infectious and grandiose, alight in something familiar, telltale of a time before all this madness. And to Marcus, that is more relief than he's had in years.

Marcus would never say it. He'd all but given up on this town days ago. But now he sees that maybe, just maybe, this town still has a fighting chance. That the days that will follow, hard as they might be, may finally pave the way to Carrion. That the end of this nightmare is soon to come. That his tired bones that feel older than they actually are can finally rest.

* * *

Triumph.

It is the idea that whatever Ross had planned by coercing Ilia to talk to Calvary has been averted, and that brings some sense of solace. That the town feels quieter and the noises have fallen into the backdrop. But with this ease comes some steady dread as they drive toward the station to report their success to Creed, because Ross himself will be there.

Nick tells Judy about Ross in the car, Ilia listening closely in the back alone.

Judy doesn't doubt him, suspended in disbelief only for a moment as she contemplates the evil that entices Ross to send Ilia directly to Calvary. "Just how does any of this benefit him? If he's trying to accuse you of being Carrion then why risk the town?"

"Wish I knew. He's crazy, I doubt he has any rationale left."

"I'm sorry to interject," Ilia says, leaning in between the front seats, "but I've known Ross for a while. He's smart, really smart. If he did this to spite you, then I don't think he's done."

Nick would have scoffed at any compliment made to the madman but he knows he's unpredictable. "What makes you say that?"

"They don't talk about it cause it was unorthodox but there was a drug bust down in Orca. A massive shipment that included all sorts of narcotics staffed by prominent figures of the Luciano crime family, and Lorenzo Valentino, their associate drug dealer." Usually she'd tell the story with some high praise, but the knowledge of Ross's talents now only scares her. "He… he snuck in, and set controlled fire to one of the shipments. Cannabis filled the air and he flooded it into the ventilation. By the time the smoke settled, the whole cargo ship was incapacitated. No one got hurt and the Lucianos were nearly destroyed by the loss of shipment and men. The whole thing was never made public so Ross and his family would be safe from the ire of the mafia…" She looks away embarrassed, thankful that Nick can't keep his eyes off the road and that Judy is content to regard her with pointed ears. "I guess, with all that, I was so taken by him that I didn't see how conniving he could be. Even now it feels wrong thinking about him that way."

Nick doesn't like the sound of that at all. Ross is a legend, it seems. Of the heroic tales most kids dream about, the kind that captivates the youth, the motivating force which most new recruits derive their inspiration. And infiltrating a cargo ship guarded by the Lucianos is no small task. Ross is armed with investigative knowledge, stealth attuned to the first hunters of his kind, and perhaps even an incredible apt for manipulation.

And with that comes a sudden realization, an idea that Nick feels is as mad as Ross is. His eyes take an apprehensive look to them, one that tightens his grip on the wheel as he seeks to find enough reasons to deter the thought.

But then the words slip through his lips, tainting the air. "Judes, you don't think—"

"—that he might be Carrion?" she finishes for him, matching his troubled stare.

And before there could be silence, Ilia falls into her seat, the same idea blooming gravely in her head. "Oh my god…"

When they arrive at the station, they are met with the slightest of fanfare from Liz, Barnaby and Clementine.

When Judy slides onto the street, Liz leaps into her arms. "You guys did it! You saved the station!"

Judy pats her head as she sets her down. "We owe most of it to Marcus, really, but we're glad we got to them before things got worse."

Clementine then scoops the bunny up. "Ya'll are the best things that ever happened ta' this station!" Barnaby glomps the two from behind, earning a deep blush from Clem.

Nick comes around the car, arriving too late to joke about how he wanted to take all the credit, but shrugs it off and takes to Judy when Clementine puts her down, prompting him to hug her too, earning a yelp from his partner. "What? Everyone else was doing it."

"Real funny, Slick." She elbows him from behind, him feigning pain in response.

Liz then meets the embarrassed glance of Ilia. "Oh, Lia, I'm—"

"Hey," she stops her midway, "don't sweat it. I'm over it. And don't worry. I won't be going anywhere. This town needs us together, I know that now."

"I'm so very glad to hear that." Hers is a soft, gentle smile. One that reminds Ilia about Kayla.

Ilia was very jealous of Kayla when it came to Calvary. She was always perched on his shoulder, the center of his world, the fuel to the fire in his eyes. She knew it was familial more than anything, because Kayla was the daughter he always wanted, but that didn't stop her from wanting what she had.

And she knows now that she can never be his lover or be close enough to be considered family, and even though it pains her, she does find comfort in knowing she's always welcome in his home. And she's embraced by Barnaby and Clementine who do what they can to comfort her, she knows that she has the backing of her batchmates who will pull her through this till she's ready to move on.

Then the doors of the station swing open as Nietly, the dispatcher and "secretary" to the Sheriff, walks out with a blank stare. She looks about the tiny mob and ignores the stagnant gazes of all present until she finds Nick and Judy among them. Once spotted, her eyes perk up only the tiniest bit as she claps her hand in some silent affirmation to her internal conversation with herself.

She walks towards them with her thin arctic fox legs and gives them a slight bow in greeting. "I suppose some praise is in order but I regret to inform you that there is another form of disorder that might require your attention."

The looks they give her tells her that they have no idea what she's talking about but it appears that she couldn't care less, because it will all make sense soon enough.

She takes them into the station, and there is an eerie still in the air.

The deputies mull about, whispering to each other. They're usually rather loud, making a fuss and flooding the room with conversation, but instead there's this.

Nick would normally be rather thankful for this but it leaves him at unease, no longer conscious about how he appears as all his senses struggle to pick out the elephant in the room. But their gazes are everywhere and nowhere at the same time, leaving nothing for him to discern. And a room he can't read always leaves Nick feeling vulnerable.

It's even more concerning for Judy because her adept ears pick up faint hints of conversation. She hears the slightest mention of Ilia and Calvary, but only once. The whispers carry one name much more prominently, sharpened by the loud " _s"_ in it. A name that floods her with distress.

" _Ross?_ " she whispers.

They make their way through the room and toward Suther through the arch toward the break room, who is perched on a counter, waving at them as he taps a heated mug with a giraffe deputy.

"Reese," Nick begins as he hops onto the counter with him, "what's going on here?"

He shrugs with uncertainty. "I don't know, but a good chunk of us don't know what the rest are talking about. Almost half of us are confused, and anytime we ask we get turned away."

Judy catches a deputy staring at them, a hare. He seems to eye the crowd intensely, bobbing his head as he looks for something. But then his gaze lowers, finding Judy, causing him to blush as their eyes meet before quickly turning away, going completely still, then excusing himself from his friends rather loudly in the quiet room, clutching his chest all the way.

Nick's head then pivots about. "Hey, where's Nietly?"

"Aw, don't mind 'er!" says the giraffe with her apparent southern accent. "Here, take a mug. Ya' done good so ah' think we oughta celebrate." She's cheery, and that's something they can appreciate under this tense atmosphere.

"I hear that," Reese says, downing his mug of hot cocoa.

Judy's ears strain to pick up more from the whispering, sipping her own mug beside Nick as she does her work as discreetly as she can. But then she hears the rolling tap of rain pouring heavy outside the building. It makes it harder for her to hear, making her shift uncomfortably in her seat in annoyance.

Then her eyes do the work instead, finding Ilia at the other end of the room, having an intense, and rather aggressive, conversation with a male lion. He makes to point angrily at her but a hippo steps in to make him back off, prompting a female wolf to join Ilia's side as well.

Then Ilia herself begins speaking, gingerly approaching the situation with a steady hand. Judy can tell that it's practiced, the way she moves is neither meek nor oppressive, but calm and collected. She is a trained conversationalist, controlling the weight of her words, whatever they may be, making them come out gently.

But it seems to work for only a moment as the lion's eyes soften, but the spell is broken when the other two speak. In that moment, Judy can see the shock in Ilia's eyes that would have been fury for the other two for ruining her framing with whatever they said.

The lion is agitated again, shaking his head slowly as an anger in him builds before erupting. "So that's it!?" he shouts. "You're just gonna let him play your heart like that!? I can't believe I fucking stood up for you."

He walks away then, leaving the lioness in dismay. Only the hippo seems to apologize, the wolf girl, however, makes her way toward the lion.

Ilia places a hand on her shoulder instead, stopping her. When their eyes meet, the wolf's eyes drop, killing her ire.

Judy nods at Nick who had been following her examining gaze, both leaving the group to join Ilia.

She immediately regards them when they meet, making the young woman shake her head as she blinks away what could have been tears.

"What happened?"

"He called me a hypocrite. That all my talk about persistence and confidence were all just colorful lies to keep them in line so I can fuel my _ego_." The word comes distastefully, filling her mouth with disgust as her face twists over the pain that cracks her features. "That I should be ashamed that I've already given up on Calvary…"

"Look," she continues, "I admit I still love him but I know I have to get over him. I can't have him and I'll find somebody else! What's wrong about letting myself look for love elsewhere?" It hurts even more when the very lion she'd just spoken to was her date to the prom, a friend she would have loved were it not for Calvary. And with him storming off into a crowd that is equally baleful, she feels more and more alone.

They are disillusioned by her, no longer hitched to her back like they used to, earning her their ire. Someone had spread rumors about her, speaking terrible, venomous things that do nothing but ruin her in their eyes.

And even though not all of them have fallen victim to the lies, most of them, she can see, are no longer with her.

Nick and Judy see it then, their eyes no longer at each other but on Ilia instead. And it is predatory, ousting, turning her into a pariah under their scrutinizing gaze. She feels trapped within these walls and amongst these people, cornering her where she no longer feels welcomed, ripping through her core till her heart hangs by a string, causing her to gasp.

Tali walks into the room then, spotting the writhing lioness before rushing to her aid. It's only in the kangaroo's arms does she start to quicken her breath. And when one of her hands drops to her side, Judy takes it, feels it clench around hers as soft bunny fingers cradle her and her pain.

When she successfully fights off the tears and her hyperventilation, she musters the strength to stand upright. She isn't embarrassed for nearly breaking down, having fallen deep into her emotions enough times today. Instead of a sob, out comes one last whimper as her throat clears and her eyes dry under a wipe.

Nick, who is unsure of how to act, is drawn away from them when Ross enters, a blank stare to him as usual. He dares not call out to him or accuse him of what he's done. Not yet, at least. But then he passes them by, his ominous gait spelling a confidence Nick is unsure he's keeping up anymore.

"Did I fail?" Ilia asks Tali, "Did we lose them?"

Ross hears her ask as while he's just within earshot. He turns to them with a grave smirk, one that scares Ilia when she realizes he's there, only confusing Tali.

"Oh, don't worry," Ross answers, "they're not leaving the station. I got that covered."

Nick and Judy struggle to decipher what he means, but then they hear the angry booming voice of Denzel Creed, stomping into the room with Nietly quickly behind.

"I don't care if Terence isn't here!" he shouts. "Just tell him about the complaint tomorrow when he _is._ I've no time to deal with this, Nietly."

The sheriff makes his way to his office but Ross is quick to follow, curving towards the door as Creed weaves through the crowd, which he readily scolds with all the restraint he has left.

By the time Creed arrives at the door, Ross is already there, standing in his way.

The polar bear looks him up and down, an irked scowl that already says what he means to say but when Ross doesn't budge, he asks aloud instead. "What in bloody hell are you doing, Ross?"

"You know, Creed, you've been real tense lately." Ross says calmly, irritating him, "Maybe you should go home and... _relax._ Let me take over the case."

He shoots him an incredulous look. _Is this a joke?_ "I do not have time for your _**crap**_ , Ross."

Nick and Judy watch in horror. They already know what he's doing.

One look about them, they realize that many of the deputies have entered the open room, and most of them watch Creed with daggers in their eyes while the rest of them spare those same glares at Ross.

Of course Ross knows that that would not have worked, so to emphasize his point, he steps forward, sizing him up. "I'm going to lay this down simply, Creed," he splays out his hands in a gentle manner, as if to placate him. "You're old, with too many ties to this town. So many that you've gotten shortsighted, barely able to discern what's right in front of you. Me on the other hand," he points to himself, "I'm still young, in my prime, and I've worked on enough cases in Orca to know what I'm doing. So just do yourself a favor, take a backseat and relax with your wife _while you still have her._ " His tone shifts then, pointed and antagonizing. It isn't a plea. Not a request. It's a command.

It's then that Creed growls, scaring some of those present, but then he grits his teeth, crossing his arms with a heavy sigh. Because he knows why Ross is doing this because it's the only thing that's motivated him, his only reason left to live. One he'd share if he ever lost Mona. "Ross, I understand that you're grieving," he pauses giving him a pointed look of his own, "but I will not allow your grief to turn against me in **mutiny!** "

"It's not a mutiny, Creed. It's..." he rolls his hand as he looks for the right word, "…reappropriation."

Creed huffs, puffing his chest as he pulls his full height to tower over Ross. It's clear that he's getting angrier, his muscles tensing with a twitch to his eye. "You're not pulling me off this case, Ross. Because I'm not just older than you. I'm stronger, smarter. That is every indication that I should be at the helm of this case, and _not. you._ " He points a claw at Ross, pressed against his chest that he almost dares to plunge into him.

He moves the claw away, tilting his head up at him. "Here's the thing, Creed, I don't need either of those things. As you can see…" he gestures to the room, "I've got the bulk of the station at my back."

Creed then finally gets a read of the room, and sees the looks their getting from the deputies and the veterans. They look just about ready to tear each other apart.

This does not deter him, however, making Creed growl louder but lower this time, seething as he struggles to hold himself back. Those more meek and those who know him well enough reel at the sound. Because Creed is historically very dangerous, and his ire is only stalled for basic animal decency, the kind he didn't have in the mafia. But Ross is pushing all his buttons, pumping blood into his temple as his fury pulsates through his every muscle. Then his claws pull from his paws as his head tilts under his scowl, daring the puma to keep going if he wants this to end in violence.

But then Ross answers the challenge, never baring his claws or his teeth because he knows he'd lose that fight. "You can bare your teeth and claws at me all you want, Creed. You and I both know that if you so much as touch me you'll start something neither of us can ever hope to stop." This quells Creed's anger because he knows it's true. "Look at 'em, Creed. These people, yours and mine, are dying to tear each other apart the minute you give them a reason to."

When Creed settles his anger till it's not visible, Ross finally takes a step back as to no longer appear threatening. "And I'll admit, you are smarter than me. But that means that you and I both know that you standing down _right now_ is the wise thing to do."

Creed can't argue. Ross's impeccable logic had always worked in the station's favor. He'd never imagined that it would ever turn against him. This burns his temples as his undercut anger is only teetering on the verge of eruption, gated only by his own steely resolve.

Javan steps in beside Creed, but he never gets to speak, the polar bear halting him immediately as to not rile anyone else up.

When the rhino backs down, Creed spares Ross another baleful look that threatens to answer his mutiny nonetheless, shifting under his pointed glare. "I swear I will make you regret standing against me."

Ross scoffs at that, shaking his head. Because Creed doesn't know how far he's fallen, doesn't yet understand just how much he's given up. "Don't you get it, Creed? You can do whatever the hell you want with me when this is all over. Cause without Elira, I just don't give a shit. All I care about is putting Carrion away, and I'm not about to sit on my ass as you dance around leads, forgetting that Carrion could be right in front of you."

The whole room hears him then, the conversation filling the quiet tension in the air.

Ross's elegant visage is exchanged by a fury of his own then, cracking as he speaks with venomous tongue that Creed withstands. "You think much too highly of everyone around you, never taking that solid dive into an idea like you used to. But I'm not about to be hindered by personal biases like you are. And we agreed, didn't we? At this point, _every theory is feasible, and everyone is a suspect._ "

Creed hears it loud and clear, hears it echo back at him like he told Ross all those years ago at days most desperate. At the height of the abductions he'd uttered those exact words, and now he feels them stab him in the back.

One last time he feels himself answer Ross, leaning toward him but speaking loud enough for the room hear him as well. "By that very same logic, you could very well be Carrion yourself."

But Ross responds immediately. "And let's not forget, Creed," he peeks at Liz who is mortified by his glance and the words he is about to utter in a singular, terrifying moment before turning back to Creed, "so could you."

Creed doesn't answer, has no more words to spare for a man gone insane. So he stomps away, leaving the puma to enter the sheriff's office with a few veterans who have sided with him.

The tension in the air disperses but does not dispel, the room now clearly divided as everyone still looks like they're ready to hurt everyone else. The tension is so thick that it's suffocating, strangling the life out of anyone sane enough to see it for what it is, prompting Nick and Judy to leave the room.

When they enter the hallway, Sam follows after them. "Come with me," she tells them as she quickly walks ahead with Ilia, Liz, and Reese in tow.

She takes them to the roof in a wide clearing under a colorful, metallic palm tree. There is a decent view of the town from up here, misted in the thick downpour that showers the vast expanse before them.

"This is where they take the kids when they visit the station," Sam explains, "I was here a lot before. It's open but lonesome."

When she goes off, she doesn't wait for them. And none of the rest gather either.

It's then that they realize that they haven't been brought here to talk about what just happened. Everyone right now seems content to sit in silence.

So Sam leans over a railing and watches City Hall from a distance, battered by rain, shrouded in mist. Ilia, Liz, and Reese congregate at a wide glass lined steel table and wallow in the events that came.

Nick and Judy decide to sit under the base of the steel tree on the real grass that surrounds it.

Judy wastes no time crawling into his arms, head pressed firmly under the crook of his neck.

Because things have only gotten worse as the town feels more and more visibly mad. Even though they've prevented collapse, they aren't certain if Ross being in power is any better an alternative. A mad man at the helm, a widower with nothing left to lose.

The demon that is Carrion is still out there, watching the town coil miserably into itself as it struggles to stay in one piece whilst beating itself in some senseless rampage. They do not know if Carrion delights in it, but he easily serves as its catalyst regardless.

And as the town is plunged into the mist, the pitter patter of rain fills the air and drowns out all the noise. Judy can tell herself that it's all a dream, a nightmare that will soon come to pass if she shuts her eyes long enough.

Nick then whispers to her gently, a one-sided conversation about a home that is so very far away. Because he cannot sing her to sleep, not enough confidence in his ability to do so. So the conversation carries on, and he can feel her every nod, and hum of approval. She doesn't speak herself, sparing only affirmative noises before giving up and nodding instead, rubbing her cheek against his chest.

She is tired, it's clear, and a half an hour of that passes before he realizes that she's fallen asleep.

Sam approaches the two while Nick wraps Judy up fully in her shawl to keep her warm.

Nick isn't tired, his mind racing as he works to uncover the secret to Carrion sooner for all their sakes. The answers do not come and it's impossible for them to, but he tries to anyway.

He looks up to Sam who eyes them with a smirk, and perhaps he would have had a witty comment to respond with, but none come. Instead, he gestures to Judy and for Sam to take his place down there.

"Uh… what?" Sam asks.

"Could you take over? I need to go and think somewhere and I can't really leave her alone."

"Why can't you do that here?"

Nick wholly expects lightning to strike but he believes gesturing the rain will suffice. "It's too loud."

With a sigh, Sam concedes and slips into his place as he holds up Judy's head. Sam nearly wraps herself up with the shawl with what she can but it smells like Judy and, as more than is reasonably appropriate, smells too much like Nick.

Nick heads down, braving empty hallways until he reaches the first floor again. He can still hear the conversations down here buzz about through the walls. And as quiet as some of all this feels, it isn't what he's looking for.

He then finds another set of stairs that lead even lower, toward the basement, and into where the cells are. As expected, it's empty. A basically crimeless town like this would certainly have days with empty cells. He did the same back in Precinct 1 in Zootopia, but he usually had to weave his way through the massive holding area to find a quiet corner amongst the cells.

Here he sits at a monoblock chair, reveling in the silence so he can think, shutting his eyes as imaginary images of the day flood the backs of his eye lids, assessing the events and the evidences.

But then, like a ghost from the night, he hears a voice pierce the steady silence. "Picking a favorite?" he hears the baleful tone of Ross.

He opens his eyes and only shoots him a menacing glance but Ross only waves it off.

He laughs lightly. "You don't need to answer, John," he takes the bars in his hands, leaning into them as he looks down at Nick from his side. "I just wanted you to know that I'm getting closer, and closer to exposing you. It won't be long now."

When Ross realizes that doesn't work – Nick continuing to ignore him – he changes pace. "And not even that little woman you call your partner can save you. She's legit, I admit, it's clear that she is, but you? All you've got is that viper's tongue, the same one I'm sure you've used to get that little bed bunny of yours to work with you."

"Bed Bunny?" Nick glares at him incredulously. "Why you little-!"

"What're you gonna do, Wilde? Hit me? Do that and you'll only prove me **right.** "

Ross's grin against Nick's scowl makes him realize that that is what Ross had been looking for, just to check if Nick still has the same cracks. He can tell now for sure that Judy is his weakness, and Nick can see it there in his eyes that he will use that to his advantage if it ever comes down to it.

Then as quickly as he came, Ross disappears, but Nick doesn't stay, mind no longer working the case, flooded only by thoughts after Judy.

So again he takes the steps up to the palm tree and finds everything is exactly how he left it.

Sam doesn't even crack an eye open for Nick, content with easing into the grass with her arms behind her head, a forearm serving to simulate Nick's chest for Judy.

When he sits beside them, Judy shifts to his lap instead then into his waiting chest again, following his scent in her sleep. She knows if it's him or not, and he allows himself to smile down at her, forgetting what came, what has come, and what will follow.

Because the world could end tomorrow, and he honestly wouldn't care less for as long as she'd be beside him, pulling him out of the dark and into her light, flooding his senses with all that is her and nothing else. Where he drifts into the symphony of her rhythmic breathing, and the paradise of her everlasting warmth.

All of it, a reminder of who makes him vulnerable, and how he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Bogo takes a sip of his coffee on that rainy night. It is cold, much to his displeasure, because it had been sitting in the car for almost an hour because he was on the phone with Sam.

"Bleck," he mouths as he puts the paper cup back onto the cup holder. "Remind me to bring a thermos next time," he says to Fangmeyer, the wolf at the wheel of the APC.

"I think Clawhauser may have prepared one to dip his donuts into," he responds.

"Did he now?" Bogo leans into the slit window in the back, looking passed his employs until he sees the portly cheetah at the very back. "Clawhauser!" he calls out to him.

"Yes, Chief?" he immediately responds, looking up from a bag of chips.

"You have coffee back there?"

He doesn't waste time responding, quickly pulling out his bright pink Gazelle-themed thermos, then passes up toward the expectant buffalo. "Very good," he says as he takes a gulp of heated relief, "I'll see you get a raise after this."

" _Really!?_ " intoned Clawhauser and perhaps a few other officers.

"I'm joking," he says, earning a chuckle from those who didn't buy into it in the first place, laughing at those who did. "Maybe," he adds, shutting them up before an uproar of laughed at questions pours out of their collective chatter.

To tease them, he shuts the slot between them as he watches the road again, seeing it cut through the dark and the rain.

Bogo then pulls up his phone, scrolling through the frantic texts he'd gotten from Sam. He knows about the situation there, in the Broncs, and worries after her and Creed both. He also knows that Nick and Judy have found more than he and Sam ever did, closing into Carrion in only a matter of days.

He is sure that it was by no means an easy task, and those few days must have felt like an eternity, but he is proud nonetheless.

He gets a text then from Senior Officer Higgins, the hippo that has readily served under him for as long as he can remember.

_Settled in well enough here, Chief. I won't let you down while I'm here. I'll keep things in order until you get back. Good luck and tell Sam that Higgs says hi._

Bogo has half a mind to tell her that right now, but a part of him wants to see her face when she finds out.

He then leans in toward the bulletproof glass as he eyes the valleys about him, spotting an old tank. "That's Old Henry," he tells Fangmeyer, "we're almost there."

In the distance he eyes the thick tree line of a forest sheltering its secrets, one that cradles a place of madness and old torments, of sleepless, grueling nights and turmoil darker than the night sky. A place that holds his star officers and a partner he wishes he never let go of.

And as they cut through that stretch of road into the forest, it isn't long until they find the large sign that bitterly welcomes him back to the place of his oldest demons: _Bronc Town._

**~o~~~o~**

_Everyone else was just another victim to Ross's madness, the cause and effect of a man who had nothing left to lose, all alone in the world as all he had left with him was the whisper of crows, telling him terrible, maddening things. It was the phenomenon of that madness that still lingers to this day, immortalized in tabloids and whispered often in their Autumn Festivals. All serving as grim reminders of the man who had taken Carrion's curse to new heights. And, perhaps, under different circumstances I would have pitied him but… after what he did to us, I don't think I could ever bring myself to forgive him._

_~Judy Hopps_


	13. Those Left Behind (pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So some disclaimer... I'm incredibly sorry this took so long. A lot happened, some are too depressing to mention so I won't. What's important now is that we're here!
> 
> Now this chapter is going to take a while to finish. This is the shorthand and this one part is already half the size of a regular chapter... and it's only Day 1 and not even the end of it. This entire chapter is going to take the span of three days in the story and will thus be the longest chapter in this story.
> 
> Now what else factors into why it took so long to make is that this is the only chapter we never fully planned for. All those before and after have had some sense of clarity as to what was supposed to happen. That's because this is what bridges the bulk of the story towards the end. We're almost to the finish line and this is meant to take us there. And now more than ever, we needed to get the tone right, so it was meticulous to make but we did it. The next update is well under way but it will be a while before the whole chapter finishes.
> 
> But we'll work tirelessly to get it out as soon as we can.
> 
> Thank you for your continued patience. :)

**Chapter 5 – Those Left Behind**

_The victims in Bronc Town go well beyond just those it lost. The family, friends, and lovers of each and every individual are themselves victims. They have also been wounded, also bled, wept, and tormented. One loss is only the first in a series of negatively life-altering events, making some of them do terrible, terrible things in order to deal with it… And Ross was a reminder that not even the best of us are invincible._

_~Judy Hopps_

**~o~~~o~**

There is a weight to Sam's steps that worries Nick and Judy. Her gait is threatening, a stomp to it that could have been thunderous were she not so painfully aware of it. Her stance is pointed and defensive, telling anyone who comes within earshot to quickly scamper away. It is a visage of weakness, one that cracks her stoic demeanor, one that would disappoint Creed were he not cooling off at home.

Her mood is clearly more than just sour, and it doesn't help that she looks as much as a mess as she feels, drawing far more attention to herself than she'd like. Her fur is matted, still vaguely damp from the rain she ran through only an hour earlier. Though still relatively dry, the cold air doesn't make it any easier for her.

Judy offers her shawl, to which Sam politely declines. "Don't tempt me. I'd rather it just stay with you." Though typically very practical, she can tell that the little bunny would freeze up without it. Despite being rather sure of Judy's adept body, she knows for sure that wet fur and cold air will affect anyone, even her.

Instead she focuses on other things to distract from the cold until she finally finds some coffee.

Sam is unsure of the state of the world, helplessly struggling to grasp some tangible idea of it that is kinder than the one she knows, the one she feels creeping up her spine.

When she drove home from this case all those years ago, what was left was a sense of unease, a prickle in her heart that wretched and poisoned her. She does not know if the world as she knows it is a delusion, the construct of the madness Carrion wrought, or if the world has always been like this and her eyes have only just been opened.

Nick and Judy, however, do not share her torments; the consequence of their youth. They do not fear the world like she does, finding instead the state of themselves and their occupation in turmoil. The case is where their eyes are locked, but in order to solve it they need to keep their heads leveled. And the issue is that they're having all the trouble in the world doing just that.

Ross is the thorn in Nick's side, the bane to his existence, one that looms overhead even in thought. Where Ross was once considered only a mere nuisance that may or may not rear its head is now clearly the baleful shadow over the town. And for a brief moment he forgets Carrion, and that is nowhere near comforting.

Judy on the other hand is far more concerned with her partner's state of being, watching his stern gaze trail to the area around them. He feels like he's being watched and Judy is not blind to his pensive and painfully alert stance.

He flinches when she says his name, locking wide eyes to her.

When he asks why she called him, she instead decides not to answer, resorting to clasping his arm in hers, drawing out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Locked onto him, she can feel him relax, pouring the tension out of his rigid muscles, breathing steadily over her scalp.

"Better?"

He nods.

She tugs him along, letting his footfalls follow after hers as they trail behind Sam towards Catfrani.

Waiting for them there at the door in their thick jackets and a shelled armadillo coat are Terence, Liz, and Reese.

Nick quickly extends a hand to the uneasy wolf before him. "Good to have you back with us."

"Good to be back," he responds as he rubs his cold hands together, face immediately twisting when he realizes what he just said. "Well… relatively."

Nick doesn't make to mention it, instead rolling a question in his head that he's been meaning to ask for his and Judy's sake. "So… how was Zootopia?"

"Better than here, I tell ya." The exact response they were expecting. "Almost made me want to stay in the city. Between here and there it just feels like a different world."

Kaenid turns his head aside, looking back at the assumed paradise in the obstructed distance. His look is one of longing, the desire for escape in a place that isn't where he is, but when he looks to Nick he sees the same look in his eyes, matched by Judy beneath him. It's clear that they feel it too.

But the weight in their eyes tells him that they ache for it more than he does. They want to go home, to a place more familiar, even if only for a moment.

 _Home,_ Judy thought, something so very far away, almost surreal, a memory she genuinely hopes isn't a dream.

Nick then cradles her in his tail, a reminder of home she finds between the contours of his russet fur.

Sam glances at them and finds that same pang of envy lacing over her. She tries to look away but then her sights fall to Kaenid lazily resting his chin over Reese's head whose thin armadillo arm is trapped rather snugly in Liz's little otter arms.

She almost makes to look disdainful but to add insult to injury, Barnaby and Clementine stumble toward them, trying their best to walk tandem whilst sharing the same needlessly long scarf.

_Why is everyone so god damn cuddly!?_

She nearly stomps when her frustrated feet amble into the diner.

Suddenly her emotions flare in a cavalcade of familiar sights and sounds, sensations laced with more frustration than she can handle all on her own, carried once upon a time alongside her stoic partner.

The diner feels the same way it did eleven years ago, chasing dead and dying leads, prompting her to fill her mornings drowning in coffee and evenings drowning in whiskey. And the same scents carry over her twitching whiskers, causing her to reel and scowl.

The air smells like burnt copper and strong coffee, of sweat and tepid gasoline, like it did when she and Bogo had to fix their Pursuer on a particularly stressful morning on the job.

Another odor fills the air too, swept under the rest in only a sliver of a smell but she has long since been adept at picking it out. It is the familiar smell of Bogo's favorite Westboro coffee, a favorite from his hometown, Mordose. _Three sugars_ , she remembers, mixing in with the mint that burns his throat, waking him up just as well as the caffeine.

But she feels like she is deluding herself, pulling her into far-gone memories in the hopes of recapturing some comfort, simmering by his warm bovine frame. And as she settles into a seat at the counter, she is only left further distraught when the scent fades, traipsed by the overbearing smell of black coffee readily set beside her as Carrie puts down the mug.

She slowly looks up at the lynx waitress, finding herself quizzically met with shocked wide eyes. "Carrie? Are you alright?"

The lynx doesn't respond. Then Sam realizes that she isn't looking _at_ her but passed her instead.

Slowly the tiger pivots in her seat, steadily finding the same mirrored stares of Nick and Judy who are shifting between her and whatever else they were looking at.

"Samantha," she hears a familiar voice say confidently, almost snidely, from beside her, just out of her periphery.

She doesn't take the time to decipher the voice, immediately growling in irritation instead. That is _not_ her name and she has gone through enough without having to deal with an irate citizen getting her name wrong like every god damn name flirt who thought they could bed that famous cop from the news.

Quickly, she turns, screaming, "that's not my _fucking_ name you—" her face brightens when she finds Bogo smirking readily at her. " **Oh my god, you asshole!** " she screams jovially as she tackles him in a death-grip hug.

He nearly loses his balance and for a moment she believes she is dreaming. She doesn't even care if she appears too forward or inappropriate, reveling only in his presence that draws relieved breaths.

In the midst of them all, Judy finds it rather heartening that she's suddenly so less tense, happier than she's ever seen her before.

Sam gives him a quick, playful jab. "Buffalo buns, you're officially the biggest asshole I've ever met."

He chuckles under his breath. "I've missed you too, Sara."

It's so uncharacteristic of the two. A pleasant, albeit strange, surprise to Nick that catches him off-guard.

"Sara, huh?" he snidely remarks to the elated tiger.

Her gaze is then pointed, glaring down at him. "Don't use that name, fox."

He raises his hands defensively but never dropping his smirk. "It's just cute, is all…" He pauses for dramatic effect. "So only _he_ is allowed to call you that?"

Bogo turns to size him up, which clearly doesn't work on him. "Where is this going, Wilde?"

"Nowhere it hasn't already."

The pair then realizes they're still in each other's arms.

Quickly they part, much to everyone's collective disappointment (including their own). "We-we're just close, that's all!"

"Huh," – Nick shrugs – "coulda fooled me."

Drawing her eyes away, Judy then finds the ecstatic figure of Benjamin Clawhauser, giggling in a booth with his squadmates as he watches his chief and long-time friend reconnect like they should have done all those years ago. His barely contained excitement erupts when he sees Judy sprint toward him.

"Ben!" she screams as she collides into his open arms.

The cheetah giggles heartily as she is consequently seated onto his rotund belly. "Judy! It's so good to see you! How have you been?"

She falls back into his large palms that act as a backrest, she gives him a tiny, sheepish smile that asks him to make her answer that question.

"Right," he says tentatively, "are you alright though?"

"We're fine, Spots," Nick replies coolly as he sits across from them, fist bumping Lupin, the grey wolf beside him. "But we'll do even better now that you guys are here."

Judy plops onto the table between them, set neatly between Clawhuaser's thermos and donut boxes. "Why _are_ you here anyway?"

"Reinforcement," Bogo answers as he joins them, standing by the table with Sam quietly at his side, face bright with a joy Judy almost doesn't recognize.

"I told Bo that we were having trouble," she crosses her arms, eying up and down the buffalo in question, "all I wanted was to vent but he ends up sending a squad."

"Not exactly a mighty force right now." Nick motions to the group, particularly at the three arrived officers. "I'm assuming the rest are elsewhere?"

Judy shifts to the seat beside Nick as Sam and Bogo collapse beside Clawhauser who is a little disappointed about being so far away from his donuts which is just out of reach.

"Settling into the hotel rooms," Bogo says. "Francine is overseeing the arrangements herself. Situated around your own."

"Splendid, we get a slumber party," Nick remarks in feigned excitement, not even trying to hide how disappointed he is about potentially losing sleep tonight. "Please tell me we'll be off duty behind those doors."

"You will be," Bogo responds nonchalantly, much to Nick's surprise. "I imagine retiring to our rooms means we've done enough for the day. I'm leaving our breaks for everyone to judge for themselves. We can't be driven like slaves on this case. We best find our comforts when we can, while we _still_ can."

It's clear that Bogo has enough experience on this case to know when to slow down. Which is odd considering his track record. Usually he'd push Nick and Judy to give their all like always, but now he's making to let them choose when to ease off.

His cautionary tone even bothers Judy, who has had more than enough surprises for one day.

Still, there is more than enough comfort in knowing that Precinct One is in town. "So who else with you?" she asks Lupin.

He rolls his wrist as he enumerates. "Delgato, Snarlov, Wolford, both Fangmeyers, and, of course Francine. That makes nine of us."

"Sounds like an extra seat in the APC," Judy comments.

"Clawhauser's donuts," Bogo answers plainly.

Lupin then squints, thinking for a moment, before looking back at Judy. "Wait, how did you know we took the APC?"

"You brought both Fangmeyers, and one of them is amongst the few that know how to drive it. You would have otherwise left him behind for emergencies."

"That's… quite the deduction." The wolf then turns to Nick who, to his surprise, is not at all bewildered. "How do you keep up with that?" He gestures to Judy.

Nick shrugs. "I just assume she's psychic and roll with it," he responds, chewing a fry he stole from Lupin's plate.

"He's being modest," Judy says, patting him on the shoulder. "You figured it out too, I'm sure. Give yourself a little more credit."

"Above you, madame? I wouldn't dream of it."

Lupin then squints at the two, making a silent observation. " _Is this… flirting? Are they flirting? Since when did this happen?_ " He almost makes to verbalize his thoughts but he quickly catches sight of Clawhauser who cautiously motions for him not to say anything about it. The wolf only nods in response, quelling his boiling curiosity, one that he's sure the cheetah shares.

Much to the pair's panic, Nick speaks, drawing their eyes away from each other. "So how are things back home?" Nick tries to hide how emotionally hitched that last word is.

Ben runs his paw down his wide chin contemplatively, scratching the side of it. "Well… Fabienne and Peter have stopped anchoring for a month cause of their honeymoon. Gazelle is hosting Icon now and… ooh! Mayor Swinton helped us finally catch Doug!"

Liz pokes her head out from the booth behind them. "Doug Ramses?" she asks, "The sniper slash chemist?"

"The very one," Lupin announces proudly. "It was tough, especially without these two—" he motions to Nick and Judy, "—but Swinton helped us box him in by pretending to be a sympathizer for his ideals."

Nick and Judy exchange a skeptical look. "And he bought that?" Nick asks cautiously.

"No," Bogo quickly responds, "but she insulted his ego so he predictably decided to play along until he found prime opportunity to take her out. She put her life in danger, painted a target on herself so we could capture him on Harrier Towers outside of City Hall."

Nick isn't sure he quite believes the story, because Doug is nothing but an easy read. "Predictably?"

Clawhauser answers for Bogo. "He doesn't mean that _we_ predicted it. It was Swinton. She… understands how people tick, apparently. He did everything she said he would and now he's behind bars to prove it."

Liz bites her lip, mimicking Barnaby and Clementine behind her. "That sounds like a pretty scary woman to have in office."

"You should've seen her in prison," Lupin chuckles to himself before looking to Liz over his shoulder, meeting the horrified look on her face and that of the deputies behind her. "Oh, no no no! She wasn't a _prisoner_ or anything! She was a guard, then… the warden. The penitentiary stopped having incidents with her at the helm. It's what solidified her campaign."

Her face reels, wincing at the abject idea crinkling her tiny features. " _Terrifying_ and _ironfisted_ do not sound like appealing traits of candidacy no matter how you advertise it."

"She's also very… _persuasive,_ " Nick offers. "I wasn't one for a law enforcement or politics a little over a year ago but she even got _my_ vote."

"Really?" Judy intoned, ears perking. "How'd she do that?"

He shrugs, twisting a random empty mug over a small plate. "She got real with her public. Said that eternal peace and prosperity weren't achievable, they're ideals, goals to gear towards. We'll never get it, not the way we imagine, but if we could get a fraction of that into reality, we'd have done something great, monumental even. A realist politician I can get behind."

Judy is clearly amused, tilting her lip. "Someone who can bend the rules to work for them? Yeah, sounds like your kind of candidate."

"Speaking of which," Bogo interjects, "why aren't any of you in uniform?" His tone is genuinely surprised rather than accusatory, a strange lightness to him that they aren't accustomed to.

"Yeah," Lupin agrees, crossing his arms, "you're all on duty. What happened guys?"

"We were asked to do it," Sam responds plainly, ignoring Bogo's simultaneously shocked and concerned gaze. "I get that it's weird but we're doing it for the town."

Sam doesn't break rules. As prim and proper when most necessary and crass when people weren't getting in line. But her tone is bothersome because it isn't usually like her. Right now she's calm and polite, with her strength still resonating about her just so everyone can be wary not to cross her. He isn't sure he quite likes this version of her, where the terrifying yet stoic persona hides beneath a façade rather than upfront and in your face.

Or maybe it bothers him that this is who she is now? A version of her that is real yet he doesn't recognize it.

"I ask that the rest of you follow suit," Sam adds, a hint of a plea buried somewhere in there. "Maybe wear something a little comfier than that stuffy uniform." She ends it a bit like an advertisement, almost a little more laid back this time.

Lupin is hesitant but struggles to respond. "But… isn't that against policy? I don't think—"

"It's just a request, wolf," her steady hand placates him, appearing as non-threatening as possible. "Otherwise, make it a suggestion. People here are tense and the scars the ZPD left behind still dig deep. At least if we walk around and generally blend in, most of them would a feel a little bit more comfortable around us."

Nick and Judy note the parallel with Calvary's spiel about the civilian attire. They aren't sure if it should be comforting or concerning but their minds drift off from it when Bogo suddenly agrees with Sam.

Clearly she's relieved – they all are, that quiet tension was just going to make things uneasy – but Bogo adopts another tone to him as well, one that is akin to his comedic yet sturdy attitude with his station, suggesting that Lupin wear what he wore on his undercover case.

His immediate blush followed by outrage quells whatever remaining vestige of tension there may have been when he shouts incredulously at his commanding officer for spilling a secret.

Over by the counter, Terence sips his coffee pensively as Barnaby and Clementine begin egging Lupin about what the chief meant whilst Nick and Judy make conversation with Sam and Bogo much to the vivid satisfaction of Clawhauser.

Carrie saunters to the counter, leaning over next to Terence. "What'cha starin' at, Kaenid?"

"ZPD," he says plainly looking back at Liz and Lupin long enough for the two to glance at his direction. Liz then waves to him and he gently smiles back before returning to Lupin whom she presumably explains who Terence is.

Carrie then _eeps,_ a mildly shrill shriek that almost scares Terence. "That cheetah… oh wow…"

He looks back to Clawhauser who is giving Nick and Judy a suggestive brow wave that only makes them laugh with how fluidly he does it. Then he presses a palm to himself, wiggling his body in a feminine manner as he appears to make a point.

Then he looks back to his coffee. "You know he's probably gay, right?"

Carrie scoffs. "I'm pansexual. It doesn't matter to me."

"He's actually asexual," Judy says as she plops into the seat beside Terence. "Hazel nut iced coffee," she orders.

Carrie quickly jots it down before handing it to the kitchen. "You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're joking."

"Sorry, Carrie, but he's just flamboyant. I'm sure you two could be good friends though," she offers uneasily.

She sighs, leaning somberly over the counter. "I guess it just wasn't meant to be. Maybe I'm just cursed."

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

"She has the worst luck though," Terence is quick to add. "She fell hard for Marshal and almost immediately after she decided to give him a go, he starts dating Audrey. Had a crush on Calvary but then he sobers up and is suddenly too busy to even visit the diner." He looks to Judy and gives a sad shrug. "List goes on."

Carrie doesn't lament at the enumeration, tilting her lip begrudgingly in some quiet acceptance of her fate. "I actually fell for another guy just a few days ago."

"Ooh!" Judy perks up, wrapping at the counter, ignoring Terence's wincing. "Who is he?"

"Sigurd Mason."

Judy's smile immediately drops.

"Yeah, I know, right?" Carrie then returns to looking at Clawhuaser from a distance before returning to her duties.

Trying not to look at her and make this any more awkward, Judy then finds Terence's scrunched brow when he squints into the kitchen. "Cormick?" he whispers.

She follows his gaze where a meek weasel shoves her iced coffee onto the board. He tweaks his glasses before looking about, eyes falling on Carrie who is looking in the opposite direction. "Um… ding!"

Carrie raises a brow before turning around. "You could just say ' _order up,_ ' Mike."

"Sorry, just not used to the setting."

"It's fine, Mike, you'll get the hang of it." She passes the glass quickly to Judy before shifting to another part of the counter entirely as Judy pays.

"Um… hi," Cormick waves at the officers present, trying not to shrink at Terence's confused and scrutinizing gaze.

"You quit the station?" the wolf asks.

"Oh, no, I'm… still very much on the force, yeah." He rolls his hands bashfully. "Ross just, uh, _dispatched_ us for regular patrols and set some of us to fill the work gaps around town. He knows I can, well, cook, so… I'm here, helping Carrie with some of the others, too," he points back into the kitchen where a few other deputies went about cooking rather leisurely.

Nick spares a glance at them, spotting a deputy hare staring at Judy. He places a hand on his chest, the other extending out to her dramatically as if to reach for her. Then the deputy looks away in a mock-pained fashion, and melodramatically ' _exits the stage._ '

Nick only raises a brow at that.

Judy doesn't notice the display at all, instead focusing on the weasel before her.

She has a mind to inquire, wanting to see what he knows as someone from the inside of Ross's private meetings. Though she's doubtful she'll find anything from him, it doesn't hurt to try. "Sounds like Ross is taking this very seriously. Making waves in town to boot."

"Well, it's clear he wants it more by comparison." He quickly raises his hands defensively. "Not that Creed was slacking or anything! It's just, uh, Ross is invested, personally. Very personally. I doubt there's anything else he wants more at this point."

Terence scoffs, holding back a scowl at the mere thought of the puma. "Does it bother you at all that he basically staged a coup?"

It's then that the conversation behind them is quiet for just long enough for everyone in those booths to hear Terence. Had Cormick noticed, he would have flustered and stayed silent but his eyes are intent, fixed on the wolf before him as he twiddles his thumbs with some confidence keeping him upright.

"Well, _yeah._ I mean… it wasn't cool _at all_ but… imagine it. If you lost somebody you really cared about, wouldn't you do everything in your power to make things right?"

Terence almost immediately gets a text from An, a long winded one about her conversation with Calvary. He skims over it at first, getting the gist of the mess it became. "I guess I understand. It doesn't justify anything, but I understand."

Cormick turns to Judy who is just as contemplative. "What about you, Officer Hopps?"

"I think he has his reasons, ones I'm sure I'd empathize with but..." She doesn't meet his gaze, or anyone's for that matter, mostly beside herself as she articulates her fears. "He's motivated, _driven,_ and in another scenario that would have been admirable but he staged a coup, and undermined a delicate relationship to achieve just that. He manipulated the situation, took control so he could take his revenge. Because he doesn't do it for this town or the betterment of animalkind. Not for you, me, or anyone else in this room…"

"So… himself?" Carrie asks as she joins them.

Still, Judy doesn't meet her gaze.

"That's the thing. I don't think he's doing it for himself either. He's fallen into abandon, putting his reputation on the line to make this push, even if it seemed that Creed was in the way. All so he can declare war on Carrion. But in doing so he's painted a target on himself, one I'm sure he's very well aware of." She is lost in her exposition, nose twitching as her thoughts agitate and rile her. She bites her lip nervously, shaking her head. "So, no, he doesn't do it for himself. He does it for her; for the wife he lost. And I think he's forsaking all that he is to catch Carrion, even if it kills him…" Finally she looks up to meet Terence's gaze, and feels the weight of everyone else's. "And, perhaps, _especially_ if it kills him."

* * *

The crackle of fire billows in Ross's garden, a pillar of black smoke that disappears into the dark dawn sky, breached only barely by the rising sun, burning golden rays against the thick smog.

And reverently he watches it, sees its tongue lash into the open sky, whipping about his collapsed gazebo in an entrancing foray across the landscape in his mind, coiling into it like a serpent, sinking into the crevices, leaving impressions that burn into his skull like the scarred face of a mountain.

Trapped within the flames are fragments of his past. Memoirs of the man, the boy, and the cub.

A baseball from his childhood, signed by some famous batter whose name he can no longer remember. The scents and sensations of the young cub and his fanfare, memories of his late father carrying him on his shoulders, all lost somewhere in the seams of the cork and yarn, the binds loosening and blackened, splinting open as the ink and its cursive mesh with ash.

A toy truck that has long since lost its wheels, made of some old fuller metal, has only now begun to melt. For years it has acted as a paperweight in his study, a throwback to days of childlike ignorance, where the cub of yesteryear dreaded school days and girls, now replaced by a man who fears tomorrow and the torment that seethes beneath his skin.

In his hand is a diploma, proudly framed, lined gold, with glass that has been polished enough times to appear crystal clear, but days of neglect has invited the dust to settle again, and he couldn't care less about the cleaning anymore.

It is a commemoration of his success at the academy, a signifier of his talent that meant that he is fit for duty, trained and able, ready for the evils of the world. But such a thing is a token of pointless achievement, one that means nothing if he can't catch his wife's killer.

To that, it too meets the pyre, tossed in like so many pieces of meaningless paper. Censored by the flame and forgotten besides.

The embers dance about him, peppering him with tiny vestiges of flame alongside the cold touch of its based ash that sinks to his bare feet.

His head then rolls back, feels the flame billow in the wind and surge over him,

His eyes close and the world disappears.

_And then he hears her._

It begins with a giggle, a quiet and reserved one that echoes his days of ignorant youth. There is an innocence hitched in it, one that mixes with his own as the lungs of a teenage boy snort and laugh embarrassingly with a girl who is as equally awkward, hunched underneath the bleachers where no one could find them.

" _Eli," he whispers to the wind drowned in blackened smog, taking his voice into the heavens where she certainly is._

Then comes a song, a serenade for his late mother that an eighteen-year-old Elira Ferris sang to her in her final moments. It quells the sorrow in his heart and softens the memory of his last known relative having left him to the world. He wants to sing along but his voice is stuck, words dying in his throat as the memory strangles his heart and mutes his voice.

The church bells then fill the air, the bliss of once-upon-a-time infecting him with unadultered bliss, filtering out the noise of the world as he cradles her in his arms, running down the aisle and out the door, into his old Bulwark sedan and straight back home.

_And suddenly the ring still on his finger feels heavy, weighted, tugging his hand down and his fingers free, loose and absent-minded._

He hears the clang of her head colliding into wood as she falls out of their closet, clad only in lingerie. She wanted to see his jaw drop but he ended up laughing at her expense. She huffs and groans as he hops out of bed to kneel beside her, nursing her head. He kisses her forehead and cracks a joke, earning him a jab in the gut.

_Then the fire before him alights as the gazebo fully collapses into it. Rekindled, the flames burn brighter, warmer, pressing over him like a burning drape._

He feels her touch then glaze over his frame, their last night of heated passion the night before her kidnapping. She was meant to leave that very night with her brother, Mark, but Ross could not stand to be away from her. It was his decision that she stay for one more night and would leave the next morning, and he'd bare that with him forever, even if she made it look like they both decided on it.

Then he feels cold, her absence from his bed worried him that dreary Friday morning. He'd held his breath when he stumbled down the stairs, expecting to find her in the kitchen cooking breakfast with her brother.

He assumed they'd already left without telling him – which is entirely uncharacteristic of either of them – but then he found her car in the garage and Mark's still in the driveway… _with Mark's keys left politely on the hood._

His eyes slowly drift open and his face turns into a scowl, angrier at himself rather than anything else. He'd failed her. Lost her to the demon in town and all he could do is wallow in his own lonely despair.

He had been robbed of meaning, torn apart till all that remained was a furious, writhing husk burning in the morning sun.

The heat pouring out of the fire sinks into his skin then, drowning him in its glow as it purifies him in a moment of otherworldly clarity. It is only until he feels a light scorching at his toes where a blazed plank slides in does he realize just how close he is to being burned alive.

His instincts scream for him to retreat, to step away to safety but there are moments in this blistering heat that he might mistake its warmth for _hers_. Were he to die in this moment, in these fleeting instances of comfort over the torment that strangles his soul, he could not care less for as long as he sees her on the other side.

"Without her I have died a thousand times."

 _Because Rostetler Rundi is dead._ All that he is… lost in the pyre. An ashen silhouette, a shadow cast against the flame. A wraith, a sullen yet vengeful spirit looking to be paid his due.

The fire draws him in, coiling around his aching legs as every step wants further and further to plunge him into the inferno.

He reaches for it, feels the heat burn his fingers as they approach.

And in that moment, a hand meets his own, placed over his to stop him from burning himself.

He turns to his side to see her face, a single tear loosed, trailing down his cheek like acid, stinging him as his voice comes out coarse and quiet, strained in dehydration and complete and utter disbelief.

"Eli?"

* * *

Terence enters the station with nary a desire to socialize, evident in his barely contained scowl and bared menacing teeth, but it is clear that many of the deputies are unobservant as well as being incredibly irksome.

"So whose side are you on?" a deputy lion asks him as he tries to keep pace with the experienced wolf. He looks down at Terence with a serious yet expectant look, thinking the question important.

"I belong to the station, deputy, therefore the town, just like you. You would all benefit from remembering that."

The fact that the lion is being annoyed only worsens Terence's scowl.

"I know that. But whose side are you on?" he asks again. "Ross or Creed?"

He adds to the question as if Terence is a dunce who doesn't understand it. Looking about, Terence finds the same looks from a few others. Which, again, doesn't help with his composure.

"That's irrelevant. Stop asking stupid questions."

"It's a simple question, Terence."

He looks up incredulously at the disrespectful lion and his face twists angrily. "That's Senior Deputy Kaenid to you, _punk!_ Don't you dare get familiar with me." His anger is barely off the surface, trying to breach but he holds it back, tougher on the inside than he is on the out.

Stunned by his outburst, the lion is stock still when Terence looks away and walks off.

"Creed was a Mafioso with an anger management issue. What makes you think you're any better when you're standing behind **that!** "

Terence turns slowly, meeting the proud grin of the deputy who is happy he finally caught his attention. But then the grin drops when Terence feels the ghost of a smile crest his own lips before returning to his restricted scowl. "You stand behind Calvary and you support a man who _was_ a violent drunk. You stand behind Creed and you support a man who _ **was**_ a Mafioso. But Ross? You stand behind him and you support a man who _**is**_ a suicidal maniac."

"And you? You're no better. A talentless quarterback who couldn't get himself accepted into a college like the rest of his team." Terence sizes him up, eying him with a scrutinizing gaze that makes him feel small. "And when your life had no more prospects because you were _lazy_ and _arrogant,_ you spit in the face of the woman who got you a job. Just what kind of man does that make you?"

The lion is stunned, unable to find words that Terence won't just twist back. So he settles with seething as the wolf walks away.

Then he hears him growl, the static lion hunching over, ready to lunge. Terence knew he'd said too much, silently cursing himself for letting himself go like that.

But before he could turn, the deputy lunges… and is quickly slammed into the ground by Javan.

The rhino had held back, not wanting to shatter his spine, but it's clear in the heavy breath he heaves under his roving chest that he believes it would not have been entirely undeserved.

Three of the lion's friends make to approach the rhino but his larger, wider frame presents itself when he eyes them, flexing angrily, scaring them. "Back off," he warns sternly before returning to Terence who he ushers toward the evidence room.

"You were a little harsh on him," Javan tells him.

"You're the one that threw him to the ground," Terence remarks, easing back into normalcy.

"He'll take it as a warning from me, but what he got from you is a roasting that tells him he's useless. We still need these people to respect us when this whole thing with Ross blows over."

"That's some wishful thinking you got there, Jav."

"It's not wishful, it's inevitable. Ross has lost it, and it's only a matter of time until everyone sees it. Our deputies are dense but not _stupid._ At least not for long."

"Can't that magical moment get here any sooner? I think I'm gonna lose it if this go on for much longer."

"Patience, Kaenid," he cautions him, pushing open the door, "things are gonna get worse before they get any better.'"

He sighs, "I pray to God you're wrong…"

Through the door they feel a wall of frost wash over them as they enter, the room's so dominantly cold that Javan wishes the uniform was thicker, rolling his shoulders visibly and crossing his arms. "This place makes me wish I had fur."

Sam, who is seated by another door at the end of the room, dries out her head with a towel, apparently having been soaked not too long ago. "Trust me, it's not all it's cracked up to be." She places the towel on the backrest of a chair before ambling towards them, noting the sullen look on Terence's face. "Kind of a mess out there, huh?"

"Consider yourself lucky you're on the field, working in forensics means I'm stuck here surrounded by these animals."

"They're not that bad," Nick remarks as he sits on a table next to Judy, "a choice few of them are just a little grumpier than the rest."

Terence notes how Nick's hand vanishes by his side, not at all relaxing beside him like the other. Judy is much the same, their opposing arms hidden between them. Almost as if they are holding hands. He smiles silently to himself, taking his seat by his examining table in the middle of the room.

But his observations are misplaced.

In Nick's hand is his gun, pressed down to the table by Judy. The growling from earlier could be heard from in here and it had startled him. Without a second thought, the fox drew his pistol but before he could aim it down the door, Judy's steady hand took his then has him set it down.

The fear in his eyes was evident, lingering even now as he steadies his heart.

His gaze turns to her, trying her best to appear relaxed in front of the rest but the trembling in her fingers that slide up from his gun into his own hand are signs of that slowly setting fear still quivering beneath.

It isn't long until Nick finally puts his pistol away does Judy finally start to relax for real, sliding into the gap between, resting her head against his shoulder.

"You alright there, Slick?" she whispers up at him, hand tugging lightly at his sleeve.

"As long as you're around, I think I'll be fine." His tone is notably lighter, retreating back to flirtation to ease the tension in their guts.

"Almost sounds like a confession, Nick." Her finger trails down his arm, gentle and yearning as she bites her lip.

"I didn't say it wasn't," he suggests, waving his brow.

"You didn't say it _was_."

She's flirting with him and he's loving it, because it's fun and stupid and pointless and there's no one on this planet he knows that will hear what he says and knows he isn't being serious, that all he's doing is making light of the world and revels in its quiet ignorance.

And it does him a great deal of satisfaction knowing that she flirts back.

He regards her with a challenging look, urging her on. "Is this going somewhere, Judes?"

"Depends…" she circles a finger over the side of his chest, "where do you _want_ it to go?"

She loves it too. Happy to let loose what stiffness there is in her bones in a quiet little back and forth with her best friend. Where she drifts away from the world and its torments and finds only him. Where she can play him like a harp and sing him a song or two, and it'll all be alright afterward. Nothing lost, nothing gained. And the world keeps spinning as she forgets what's strangling her.

"Uh…" Liz intones, blushing wildly from beneath them.

Nick and Judy only laugh, causing the little otter to reel in confusion, finally calmed when Reese pats her head. His face is straight when he does so, the semblance of a friendly little smirk edging his lip.

"Great," Terence announces, clapping his hands together, "you're all here."

"Done with the analysis?" Judy assumes, leaning over the table to try and peek at the transparent slides on his examination table.

They meet him with expectant gazes, with Sam trying to be as nonplussed as she can manage, hiding the anxiety beneath the surface.

And to his chagrin, her fears are well placed. "You're… not gonna like it." He chuckles weakly.

"But obvious stuff out of the way first. Yes, the blood on Kidd's apartment matches that from the scene. None of the material from the Avery homestead has yielded anything we didn't already know. And the bunker only has DNA from Basset and… well I'll get to the arm in a minute."

He takes a printed bond paper off the table and shows it to them with a wave "I analyzed a hair sample from the sweater and the results only tell us that it's… Mr. Kidd's," he is sheepish, shrugging sadly.

He then takes out a photo slide with a greyed microscopic close-up to it. "Our new instruments have also determined that the sweater piece we found has been cut clean from the rest of the wool. Carrion could have just easily ripped it out to appear genuine but clearly he had another message to send."

Terence shakes his head, his teeth a little bare as he takes another slide out. "But all the time spent on it was kind of pointless, really, when you consider what I got in the mail this morning." The photo he has is of an unwrapped box with the rest of the sweater inside, neatly wrapped up in a vacuum sealed plastic.

"And before you ask, yes, I analyzed the box and the plastic… completely sterilized, not a single trace of anything."

Sam appears the least disappointed, clearly having anticipated the worst.

He grasps a clipboard off the side of the table, going over its contents. "As for the arm from the bunker… it belongs to a wolf named Carson Rickets, the late father of four and the thirty-seventh victim from Carrion's first serial kidnapping."

"And then there's… Sigurd's arm," he punctuates cautiously. He pulls out the arm from a frozen drawer beneath the table.

"It was likely cut clean before to avoid identification. The rough, uneven slice afterward seems entirely amateur, which Carrion _isn't._ So I looked into the stump and found traces of bronze in it. Now I don't know what kind of weapon is bronze but –"

"Oh you've gotta be fucking kidding me!" Sam growls, drawing all eyes to her. But she doesn't regard them, having already turned away from them.

Before they question her, she pulls open one of the blinds that look outward into the town proper. In the distance the plaza stands, which she points at.

Some take a little longer to realize what she's gesturing to but Nick and Judy immediately notice it.

Liz then gasps when it clicks in her head.

Suther is the last to pick up on it, needing to clamber onto the table to look out the window to see it. Peeking over the horizon, with only its outstretched arm visible from his position, he too sees it gleaming in the gloomy sun, refracting off its surface like the second half of Carrion's mockery over the golden glow on its dull, decorative blade.

Tentatively he whispers, "the Horace Memorial?"

* * *

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," An mimics Sam in an almost frightfully similar fashion, almost scaring the very tiger.

Looking up at the extended step ladder off the fire truck, An spies the lithe form of a pensive antelope deputy spritzing luminol on the bronze blade held by the Horace Memorial.

"We got blood," she announces from her perch.

"Take a sample," Sam commands from below.

"We got some here too," Judy says as she spritzes the base of the statue beneath the blade. "Looks like he didn't even bother cleaning the arm. The pool down here can account for a good few minutes of work dripping."

"Almost sounds unprofessional," Reese comments as he sits quietly in the grass, Liz perched on his shoulder.

"Actually," Bogo begins, cleaning his glasses, "it's intentional."

"Hm?" The quiet armadillo raises a brow. "How so?"

To him it simply can't be the case, it just doesn't make sense to him, but then he spots the look in Bogo's eyes. The disinterest rolling off them as his shoulders relax, clearly having seen this all before. And when he speaks, his droll tone is that of a teacher reviewing a student who wasn't paying attention.

"The puddle means that Carrion was there for longer. And in that span of time, the security in City Hall and all surrounding buildings who have full view of the statue, didn't even spot him."

"Carrion wants us to know that he's been here for long and that everyone that should have seen him in the act, from the security in City Hall, to the deputies and citizens in the surrounding area, didn't even glimpse him."

Lupin beside him shivers, pressing a pensive claw along his neck. "Doesn't sound like we're dealing with a _person_ here…"

"Don't go saying that to the public," Liz warns, "they're paranoid enough as it is. It'd only make things worse if people think Dead Horse is real."

Francine's large ears flop upward, turning to the little otter. "Who's Dead Horse?"

Reese quickly pokes her in her tiny belly before she can sound excited. She likes explaining the legend – having done so with the local children for a good scare – but it is neither the time nor the place to be excited about it.

She eases herself quickly enough and takes on a serious posture, explaining it to them.

Nick on the side takes steps away from the crime scene. He doesn't want to hear the legend a second time around. Instead he surveys the area, spotting Calvary slowly approach, curious yet cautious.

"Welcome to the party, Calvary!" Nick makes a show of himself, splaying out his hands whilst tossing torn shards of paper he'd gotten from the nervous little Liz earlier like confetti.

With a raised brow and a smirk, Calvary crosses his arms at the delighted fox. "You always make light of a terrible situation?"

He shrugs. "Only if I can help it. World's grim enough as it is. Wouldn't help if I kept a raincloud over my head like everyone else."

Calvary crests the smallest of smiles, pleasant and true, looking down at the fox with an admiration and envy that burrows deep inside. And now he fears he'll never see the world the way Nick does ever again. "You've a refreshin' way of seein' the world, Nick."

The hint of sadness laced in his tone does not escape Nick but he is certain he doesn't want to open that can of worms.

Then Calvary's eyes drift outward, Nick following suit. He expects him to look forward, eying the memorial and the desecration stained over it in the dried, invisible blood of a good man.

But instead he looks elsewhere, eyes locked at the irate wolf in the distance.

His dejected sigh worries Nick, watching the lion who just got his stoic figure back wilt just enough to shatter his image.

An seems to feel his eyes on her or, in the very least, has been glancing at him as well, because in that moment she looks to him with the same sullen gaze which morphs into a mutual embarrassment when their eyes meet. There is a moment of hesitation before the pair awkwardly looks away, dragging their eyes along the floor over some particularly interesting blades of grass.

Never before has Nick witnessed something so utterly cliché… and yet it is so incredibly depressing.

He does not dare to make eye contact with the lion, instead sipping from his thermos in as nonchalant a manner as he can manage. Then, with a burst of courage, Nick asks, "how are you holding up?"

Surprised at the concerned fox, for a moment too brief does Calvary dare to forget that which haunts him. His mind goes blank then, unable to respond with a feasible and honest answer.

Clarity comes when Nick says his name, looking up at the slightly dazed politician.

Calvary then remembers where he is, and cleaves through the cloud in his head to speak. "Not as bad as I could have been, I suppose."

The pair then spots Judy ambling towards An, the two trying their best to at least appear like they're speaking lightly. Nick and Judy then spare a glance at each other, a small nod shared between them as they tend to the two.

Calvary is scarce to admit his envy of Nick, wanting so deeply to have what he has with his partner. As far as he can tell, they're friends, and rather close ones at that. And that hits him where it hurts.

Because he doesn't even know what he has with An anymore and trying to act professional around each other is only going to prove awkward because their relationship even on the job was hardly professional to begin with. But she's basically his bodyguard – an incredibly necessary one at that – and trying to stay away from each other is entirely out of the question.

Deciding to dwell on other things, Calvary instead focuses on the scene before him. "So what happened? What are they doin' with our memorial?"

Nick is thankful for the change in topic, any signs of his relief lost behind his shades. "Carrion cut off Sigurd's arm on the memorial's blade."

"He dragged his entire body up there to sever an arm?"

"Though I'm sure Carrion's entirely capable of that, it's more likely that he cut off the arm first before slicing the stump with the blade. According to Terence, all the bronze made from the statue was taken from out-of-town sources, so it's unlikely to be from anything else. We didn't want to be right about this but the blood indicates that he was here." The Horace Memorial is surrounded by four 24/7 businesses as well as City Hall itself. The idea that Carrion climbed the memorial and sliced an arm in full view of them is baffling considering that no one purportedly seen it. And it doesn't help that none of the surveillance covers the memorial at all.

"Must've taken him a while to pull it off if he had to climb it," Calvary comments, looking up at the towering bronze before him, glistening in the afternoon sun. "And that blade's dull from the years. It'll still cut but I doubt it was quick… and knowing Carrion, he must've taken his sweet time too."

The thought of the killer angers him still, murderous thoughts lingering beneath his twitching fingers, claws ready to bare. But as quickly as it came, the fire burning his soul dies, adjusting his lapels before walking off. "I'll leave it all in your most capable hands, Nick."

Judy saunters to Nick's side, watching the lion walk off as An joins his side, escorting him back to City Hall. The mayor and his head of security don't speak, somehow thankful to have their minds elsewhere rather than each other. Though painfully aware of each other's presence, their eyes lock onto City Hall, determined to do all they can to keep the town together.

And it already feels like they're failing.

Nick and Judy find some comfort in knowing they don't have to bare that kind of burden, because to them, the officers on the case, they can feel an end in sight, a feasible pattern starting to form around the enigma that is Carrion. But them, those who have to sit and wait, will feel every moment and look to the future like a torturous eternity, doomed to yet again repeat history.

And despite the hope they give them, it should come as no surprise that the town is mostly bracing for the worst instead of hoping for the best.

Judy takes Nick by the wrist, tugging him before letting go. "Let's go, Nick, they don't need us until the blood is analyzed."

With a quick nod, he follows after her to a row of trees on the side of the plaza where their Austin Terrier sits in the shade.

But it isn't alone.

Leaning against it is a pale white rabbit, finely dressed, deep red eyes, ears and neck tipped with black streaks. And he has company, polar bears and rhinos against the surrounding trees.

When the rabbit spots them approach, he extends a friendly hand. "Hello, officers, I'm—"

"—Andrei Callahan," Judy interrupts, crossing her arms, "formerly Arbuckle Harrier of the Halberd Harriers."

"Caporegime to the Luciano crime family," Nick continues in his same sarcastic tone, "suspected thief, arsonist, and murderer but no one's gotten you pegged, have they?" Nick shakes his hand, adopting the same signature smirk that catches Andrei off-guard. "A pleasure."

"You two have certainly done your homework." An impressed tilt of Andrei's lip finds him, settling his hands on his hips.

Being a Luciano, the distinct English accent accustomed to the Halberd Harriers is lost from him, speaking with a tonality that is American but almost Italian, and this bothers Nick. Because a Harrier willing to abandon his family is one thing, but having been integrated into another so deeply as to lose his accent is entirely another. In other words, it is the telltale sign of a loyalist, a man who had nothing and now has everything he could ever want and will pay back the debt in full and, if need be, in blood. A dangerous man all around.

Judy, on the other hand, is not even barely threatened by him. In fact she is actually quite annoyed, foot thumping where she stands, wanting very much to get out of here and find someplace less stressful. And as she looks at the large men around them, she inwardly groans at the idea of wasting her energy on fending them off. "Is there something you wanted or are you and your friends here to cause trouble?"

"Quite the opposite, actually. I've come here to thank you."

Andrei's stance is relaxed, much like Nick's did when he first met Judy. This concerns her as she expects a lie to spark off his likely venomed tongue. She eyes the burly men again, suspicion filling her features vividly. "So what's with the muscle?" She gestures to them.

He shrugs smoothly. "We've an image to keep." He then turns to Nick, eying the former conman with similar confidence. "You understand, don't you?"

"In a past life, maybe." Nick plays it cool, and this placates Judy, quelling the tension in her nerves as she settles herself. "So does this thanks come with cake? Cause I'm famished."

"Only if that's what you really want."

Judy raises a brow, wondering if Andrei is even taking this seriously. "Sounds like you're granting us a wish."

"Something like that. You see, you've done us a great service." He sounds like a salesman on a pitch, gesturing as if he is up on a stage. "We Lucianos are good friends with the Wendalls who, as you know, are relatives of the Mellivoras. And when we caught wind of what was going on, we were willing to…. _rough up_ a particular town mayor just to keep a certain duke and his lioness niece happy."

"Now don't get us wrong, we respect Calvary and this town. They've been good to the Mellivoras and, consequently, good to us, but… well, you don't mess with the Wendalls, no matter how close to them you are."

"It was a question of who we cross. Because we know Calvary is under Creed's protection and that would have just been messy and the Wendalls would have certainly resolved the issue themselves, and that includes _us_ if we waited around for too long. And you saved us the trouble by sorting it out the way you did. Needless to say, we're incredibly grateful. So grateful that we're willing to extend a favor of any kind if you wish it."

Judy is surprised by the honesty in his eyes, and she can tell Nick does too, judging by the hint of surprise in his suddenly relaxed hand, but it worries her still. "I'm… not sure what to make of this. You aren't suggesting anything illegal are you?"

"Our services don't have to be… above the law. We've a great many talents with our roster of associates. I'm sure you could make use of one of them."

"You know, it really was mostly Marcus," Nick offers, genuinely a little ashamed that they're suddenly taking all the credit from a good man.

"He's a tool from a toolkit. Without you two he would not have known and, as we understand, would have been far too late even if he did. And we mean no disrespect, Marcus makes the best pies in town by far — and you can tell him we said that — but the bottom line is that we owe a debt to the both of you. And we leave it to you to decide what you do with it."

Nick shrugs, answering quickly in as a cheeky a grin as he can manage. "You wouldn't happen to know who Carrion is, do you?"

He chuckles. "If we knew, he'd be dead. The Lucianos lost three men to him several years ago. All they wanted to do was retire young, and now they're dead. The capos in the family still hold a grudge, even fed information to Kurt Bellows back in the day in the hopes that Sam and Bogo could solve it. Needless to say, it was all worthless. Now, though I don't share in their ire, it's clear that Carrion has earned as much of the hatred from the Lucianos as this town has."

Andrei makes to walk off, his men easily taking the signal to follow suit. "Try not to squander this opportunity," he says as he walks back, "you're in a dire time. You could use people like us."

Finally alone, Judy takes Nick by the arm, wrestling with an unpleasant thought.

Seeing the distress in her eyes sparks a grave thought in Nick. If he could get them to do it, neither he nor Judy would ever have to put a bullet through Carrion's head. To be lifted of that burden would put him at some ease were the time ever to come.

And it leaves him no comfort when he realizes that he's seriously considering it.

Even less so when he realizes that Judy thought it first.

* * *

Out in the clearing of the forest parking space, Nick and Judy sit alone in their car, eyes watching the hidden path that leads into Mr. Kidd's property.

They wanted to relax, to get their minds off the case but it only seemed like everything, including their own minds, kept drawing them back into it. And it wasn't long until Judy suggested they go back here to see what else they can find.

"The sweater was taken from his bedroom," Nick states, leaning against his seat.

"So maybe there's something there but…" Judy wants to meet his eyes but doesn't.

"I know, I know. It's likely a dead end…" He leans in, curling his hand over one of her extended ears, pressing along her back so he can cradle her cheek. "Hey, we've gotten real lucky lately. We might just find something."

His hand over her cheek actually serves no purpose, his words alone could have earned him that same smile she has on now. But there's something else lingering beneath his fingers as his thumb trails over the tips of her fur, prompting her hands to rise and cup his wrist.

Gently she pulls his hand down, nestling it between her own. "You're staring, Slick. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing…" _The world is a backdrop, lost in the cavalcade of emotions and torments that drown him in its derelict oceans_.

"Everything…" _The monster in town, the gun at his hip, the weight on his shoulders, totems of a life that is now his, looming overhead like a shadow that curses and damns him._

"You." _She is the center of his world, the last precious thing he has that he prays God is merciful enough to let him keep forever._

The weary struggles trapped underneath his trembling grasp is enough to tell her that he is afraid, the gun strapped to his side like an anchor. So she slides into his seat again and sinks into his chest, letting him hold her.

The nuzzle she gives him is an invitation to her warmth, the last thing she can give him if nothing else is enough. And he takes it willingly, cradles her gently but desperately till his body only knows her and forgets the pain and sorrows glazing over him.

She buries her head in his chest, feels the warmth tingling over his pectorals and lets her hands gloss over them, tentatively feeling them with the tips of her fingers, upward to the toned gap between his shoulder blades.

He pulls back and looks down at her, feeling her heated breath so dangerously close to his lips.

His eyes are half-lidded, blinking and unsure in what he can only describe as something mindless, instinctual, as if it was always meant to be. And his lips quiver, perchance to speak… or something more.

She wants to kiss him but she can't, because she doesn't know what it means. To her, to him, it's a step deeper into whatever they've made of themselves in these desperate times and the idea that it might not be real, like An's or Calvary's, is something else that terrifies her.

She wonders if it will help them forget, to drown out the world in the sights, sounds, and sensations of all that they are in something mindless and passionate, brazen and foolhardy.

And there are no interruptions of any kind. No Barnaby at the window, nobody on the phone, only them alone in the woods, desperately trying to make sense of the hearts beating out of their chests.

But then her hands fall off his chest and his hand slides off her back and onto her shoulder.

He pulls her in but only to kiss her on the forehead and whisper in her still blushing ear, "I got you."

She tugs at the folds of his jacket, straightening them for a lack of a tie. "And I've got you."

She smiles up at him, tiny and true with enough love in her eyes to fill the spaces he feels are empty.

"We should go."

With the car locked and walking arm in arm, they make their way down the winding path faintly etched into the autumn leaves below.

She remembers the smell and the taste of the air like she did on her first time here, Nick's cheap cologne and the scent of newborn autumn finally shading the canopies.

August nine it was, and it is a day marked in infamy, the start of this madness.

And today it is the eleventh. _Has it really only been three days since then?_

When they reach the stretch of road that hugs the side of the lake toward the Kidd household, they find the wide open space about them to be incredibly lonely, barren looking.

As they tread along, their feet crunch over the autumn leaves, filling the silence.

At the door, Judy pulls out the key loaned to them by Mr. Kidd's nephew on the first day they came. And when it slides into the keyhole and clicks, something behind the door tumbles to the floor.

The two look at each other quickly, prompting Nick to pull out his pistol whilst Judy remains unarmed but ready. They slowly open the door to find nothing through the crack.

Then Nick nods at Judy, prompting her to kick the door open as Nick points his firearm forward.

"Who are you people!?" comes the furious cry of a goat, double-barreled shotgun pointed anxiously at them.

Realizing who's in front of them, Nick lowers his firearm, raising a friendly hand to placate him. "Don't be alarmed, we're the ZPD."

Judy is the first to find her badge, followed by Nick who panics the goat for only a moment when he reaches for his wallet which is dangerously close to his holstered pistol.

It takes him a second to calm down, finally lowering his weapon. "Right, sorry. Just jittery, you know how it is," he says between unsteady breaths.

"You're Arthur Kidd, I presume?" Judy asks.

"Yeah, I am. Monty's my uncle. Forgive me for not recognizing you two. I've just been a bit on edge. So what's the ZPD doing here again?"

"We have reason to believe that something of your uncle's has been stolen so we're here to investigate Mr. Kidd's room, see if it yields anything. Mind if we come in?" He obliges them, gesturing down the hall towards the staircase as he takes the lead.

It doesn't make sense to them that he'd willingly stay in a remote area alone if he's so afraid of Carrion. "What are you doing here, actually?" Judy asks, trying not to sound like she's interrogating him.

"I've… come here to clean. Keep the place spotless until we know what to do with it." Aside from his tone being none at all convincing, Judy notes the overturned chair in the hallway. He'd been waiting for Carrion to come back and get him, armed with the shotgun in his hands to take him out or die trying.

He takes them up from the staircase at the end of the hall and into the only room there. "This is it."

The room is lined with polished wood with a carpet on the floor. The bed is of no modest size, large enough for three, with makeshift study against the desk by the window which is surrounded entirely by books. The closet off the side looks much like Nick's… only four times wider with varied drawers and sections.

Were it not so incredibly rugged, Nick would have been envious of the place. But the polished finish on all the wood does give him ideas about the vanity he meant to give to Judy. Ideas that are sadly a little too late.

Nick makes his way to one end of the wide closet whilst Judy checks the other end.

When it's clear that Carrion has been thorough, Nick decides to look over it again whilst Judy inspects the rest of the room.

Walking toward the bed, Judy realizes that Arthur is still in the room.

"Have you noticed anything suspicious?" she asks him as she inspects the drawers.

He shrugs wearily. "Just the silence. It's like the forest has never been quieter. The crows have all gone too."

The pair simultaneously widen their eyes, realizing it together. "You're right…" Judy asks, pressing an unsteady finger to her lip. "Where _have_ all the crows gone?"

"Wish I knew but… you know they say that crows are smart. Smart enough to play pranks on each other, and people. It's my theory that they know what's going on, that they're as afraid of Carrion as we are."

"We're not afraid of Carrion," Nick says confidently. A lie of course, but one he isn't sure he's telling Arthur or himself.

"Consider yourself lucky. Me on the other hand? I'm scared shitless of him. My uncle was a good, honest man, but he was a tough old goat. Had enough bullets in him from the war to make him impenetrable. I used to think nothing could get him… But now I'm here wondering what it took to make a man like that scared."

"He wasn't scared," Judy tells him, stopping where she is but never meeting his surprised gaze. "The evidence suggests that even when he was shot, he crawled at a steady pace. He didn't scramble and always kept upright whenever he could, calm even with a wound in his arm."

"If anything, he was angry," Nick adds, "maybe a little confused but he wasn't scared. That man knew where to go and what to do, knew where the enemy was coming from and made sure he made it hard for him. Montgomery Kidd was a fighter."

Arthur finds comfort in knowing his uncle was still the man he remembered, but that sparks something else in him. He watches them, stoic and steady, a determination in them that he knows his uncle would have admired, a strength he doesn't have.

He sets down his shotgun, leaning it against the wall as he chews his lip. He rolls his hands together, pensive yet unsure. "So… if you don't mind me asking, what are you planning to do when you catch him?"

"Why do you ask?"

It takes him a while to answer, a dead silence falling between them as he stands there restless, gripping his wrist. "Nothing… no reason. Just… curious."

His stammering tells them terrible things, the idea that Marshal was more right than they would have hoped. Carrion has poisoned these people, turning a once kind town into a nervous, angry mob. The way he shook earlier with the gun in hand, unsteady and with the wrong grip on it, it was clear then as it is now, he'd never held a gun before… and here he is with one at the ready, with a death wish he's hoping would come through the door.

"Do you have a family, Arthur?" Nick asks.

"Uh… yes, yes I do. My fiancé and her daughter. They arrived here from Orca a few years back and have been living with me since. Monty loved them. Even helped pay for the wedding."

Judy can't tell how nervous he is, notes the way he's shaking. Unsteady, rather tense, and wonders why he isn't looking for comfort. "Why aren't you with them?"

His tone is somehow calm, but it's clear to them that that's only because he's practiced these words, prepared for that very question. "Oh, they're helping with the festival, making pastries for the kids. I'm no good on the stove so I'm no help to them."

"Nothing else you can do at the festival?" Judy tries to give him an escape, wants him to say something he can't just bring himself to do. Anything but stay here, anything but to wait for whatever it is he's waiting for.

"I help with the construction. They let me go though. Knew I needed time to myself after Old Monty disappeared." Honesty, it's there in his voice, rolling off his tongue in a way that's very different, but he chokes at the mention of his uncle, the word unsteady as if he doesn't know if to sound sad or neutral at the mention.

"Arthur, I think you should be with your family. Not here on a vendetta." Nick's voice is only almost stern, but it makes him pause, long enough to look back at the worried goat and give him a small, reassuring smile. One that tells him they know why he's here and what he wants, and that they're going to take care of it.

But he needs to forget about Monty for now and go back to his family. A safe place. Anywhere but here where Mr. Kidd's ghost still lingers.

"I… yes. I should go." He's still shaken when he leaves, but he has the good sense to leave his gun at the door.

They wait till they hear him walking out the door and locking it, easy to hear in the dead silence, but the tension doesn't leave the room even after it's clear he's long gone.

"They're losing it. This town and everyone in it," Nick comments, slumping to the floor.

Judy walks over to him from across the room, a steady gaze to her that dares to hide her thoughts. "That includes us, you know," she tells him as she falls to his side.

They don't say a word, the world outside so eerily quiet that they can hear each other's breathing at this point. The house slumber and so does the forest, the birds gone and crickets hiding.

"Am I going crazy?" Nick begins, staring up at the ceiling. "I feel like… at any moment I could start hearing voices."

Judy wiggles her feet, letting her aching legs relax. "Try not to," she says, chuckling after. "If one of us is gonna lose it, let me be first. I'd _hate_ to have to take care of you." The sarcasm in her tone is strangely like Nick's, which would have bothered her had it not felt so incredibly natural now.

"You slay me, Hopps. Where'd all the empathy go?"

"Left it at the door. If I have to go get it, we need to go get something to eat."

"Hungry?"

"I just want a distraction, and to find something to crave. Go anywhere but here."

"Then let's do that." Nick gets up, quickly scooping up Judy by the arm to make her stand, her lightweight frame not making it even mildly difficult.

They leave the room, but not before Judy takes one last good look of the place.

A labor of love it was. Crafted as an escape from the world Carrion wrought. Old Monty, according to Creed, built this place as a haven away from town and its whisper of crows. But he didn't build it like a fortress, he built it like a home, a place to feel sane again.

How cruel did a world have to be to desecrate a place so lovingly crafted by having the first victim Carrion's had in years be in the same place he was supposed to be forgotten?

And now the room is empty, its furnishings and polish left as memoirs of a dead man, the moments carved into the wooden finish now left painfully at the door, days, weeks and months of labor now stagnant, still in a forest frozen in time.

Judy shuts the door behind her, and soon enough they're off the porch, staring into the lake. She remembers the things Liz told them, about the memories they made with the old goat and how he came to be one of them. Arthur is one of the FyFly kids, she can tell, and the memories of Monty must bear some greater weight on him in contrast, enough to arm himself with a weapon he's never used and wait at the door for almost certain death in the off chance he'd land the killing blow himself.

"Where do you think he parked?" Nick asks her suddenly, drawing her out of her stupor.

"Arthur? I'm sure he parked in the clearing."

"No, I mean Carrion. Town proper is a little ways away from here. If he took Mr. Kidd then he certainly wouldn't have taken him to God-knows-where on foot."

"Certainly nowhere close. He needed a place that could cover his tracks. This is the woods, not the town proper, and the dirt here leaves impressions we could follow."

Nick rubs his chin pensively. "Actually, that's kind of strange. If Carrion wanted to be sure no one found him, why start again out here where the dirt can leave tracks that we can use to follow him. How obscure does his path have to be to lose track of him?"

Judy's eyes loom over the lake once more and then onto the dock, watching the minute waves bank across its supports. Then it dawns on her that perhaps they were approaching this wrong. "What if he didn't come here that way?"

She skims the side of the lake, following it upward toward the river: Logan's Passage.

"You think he came here by boat?"

"Maybe…"

The river is thin with rapids that seem stronger than they should on a particularly calm afternoon. It is dangerous, clearly, and hardly safe, but if Carrion needed a fast way out of here, this is it.

… _only madmen tread that river's waters now,_ Marshal's voice echoes to her.

Nick watches a discarded plank drift down the river, violently crashing into stones in the speeding current, then rapidly out of sight in several pieces. A boat would certainly have too much trouble coming through here. "If there was ever a man crazy enough to take the river, it would be Carrion." _Or Ross._

They circle around, following the river downstream.

Along the way, they pass by a few of the other cottages, again they are dreadfully quiet. Of course they went to the Autumn Festival to assist but it makes the pair feel even more alone than they are.

Judy then sees a large sloped stone tossing discarded wood into the embankment like a ramp.

Slowly she approaches the indented embankment, hears the water fill the air with its noise, getting louder and louder as her brain works to visualize what had happened. If Carrion is skilled enough to go down this river with an intact boat he would have planned his route down it, anticipating every obstacle, all so he didn't have to take his chances leaving a trail. Against that ramp pulling the current into itself, he would have certainly crashed here.

There they find a collection of stones, clumped together like a nest. And amongst the swathe of smooth black rocks she finds a hint of yellow trapped between them.

She leans in, completely ignoring that her shawl is being soaked, reaching out for whatever it is. Then her fingers grasp it. "Yes!" she announces before losing her balance.

But before she could fall in, Nick scrambles to her, awkwardly grabbing her with an unsteady grip as one of his hands sinks to her waist to stabilize her.

She takes this suspended moment to tug at the yellow piece.

Nick sits them down by the water. "Should've asked me to do it. I have longer arms."

"You're also less balanced," she snidely remarks.

"You're unfair."

"But I'm also the right amount of curious," she holds up the plastic yellow piece, turning it. "It's from a raft."

"This is a large cut, most rafts would not have survived this kind of damage in a river like this," Nick posits. "It had to have come from a multi-layered one, a reinforced raft."

"That should narrow it down even further. Marshal says that people here don't ever use boats in town so anyone with one would be pretty rare."

"So we find that boat—"

"—And we might find Carrion."

They can't help but feel a sense of dread, because they're drawing ever closer to the identity of the monster in town, and the idea of meeting him, coming face to face with a serial killer, inspires only fear. Because finding him is one thing but… catching him is entirely another.

* * *

"…and then we found _this_ in his drawers!" Sam gestures to a map of the local swamp folded out on Creed's dining table which has been covered in sterile plastic wrap.

Bogo only huffs when he looks it over.

"What's wrong, big guy? Jealous you weren't here to share in my glory?" Sam teases, poking the cape buffalo in his pectorals.

He chuckles. "Don't be so full of yourself, Sara."

"Full of myself?" She playfully jabs him in the shoulder in some barely contained irritation. "C'mon, I actually helped get us solid leads here, Bo! At least let me revel in it before shooting me down." She crosses her arms, trying not to smile but can't help but curve her lips upwards.

"You know I would…" He smiles at her, a tiny yet meaningful one that he only reserves for her or times of genuine compassion, but it dies in the next moment. "But I'm sorry to say that this only tells us that he's clever. Something we already knew. Not to mention that this could just as easily have been a setup to frame the hunting club."

"My thoughts exactly, but a little optimism here and there doesn't hurt," she reasons, sitting herself on the cement counter that acts as a makeshift window between the kitchen and the living room.

Bogo raises a skeptical brow. "You? An optimist? I don't know if it's Mona or Hopps but one of them is clearly rubbing off on you."

She makes to respond with a snarky comment but it dies on her lips as she appears to reach a personal epiphany. "I'd say that you were both wrong and a presumptuous motherfucker but… Jesus, I think you're right."

"I am? This mean you know how to cook now?" Bogo realizes that he isn't actually sure if he's joking or not.

"Not on your life, big guy. Most I'll ever make is a sandwich and that'll only be for me. I pay a place to wash my clothes, I order delivery, and did I mention I got a maid to clean my apartment every once in a while?"

"You've gone entirely dependent, haven't you? What is it that you do that doesn't involve hiring someone to do it for you?"

"Solving crimes and keeping the peace, Bo. My life is the job now, no time to complicate myself with anything else. Besides, it's not like you can cook either."

Bogo takes mock offense to that, gesturing to himself haughtily as he grins from ear to ear. "I'll have you know that I've actually found time to cook lasagna."

Before Sam could reply, Mona wanders into the kitchen with a towel swung over her shoulder. "He's not very good at it, but he's improving."

Bogo winces at being frightfully caught, causing Sam to chortle with self-assured pride. "Ouch, burn mark by Momma Mona," Sam announces, much to Bogo's chagrin.

"Well you gotta be honest with your pupils," Mona says evenly as she washes the only plate in the sink, "otherwise you waste time coddling them. Besides, it's not like you can't touch an oven without setting the kitchen on fire."

Her eyes go wide and as Bogo laughs at her expense. "Hey, that's taken out of context!"

"It's still a metaphor that fits, hun. You two are still hopeless in the kitchen anyway. If you two ever started living together, you'd either starve or live off fast food and other junk till you die of diabetes… or arthritis."

"I order from a fancy restaurant that has variety," Sam huffs.

"And I order healthy meals pre-packed by a local eatery conglomerate," Bogo defends, nearly quoting the service's own advertisement.

She points at each of them. "Preservatives. Preservatives."

They shrink under her scrutiny, the much older woman giving them a small motherly smile.

"Now I know you two have personal fitness trainers but eventually you'll get old enough to not even care about how you look. And then you'll know the fine line between simply following health instructions and actually knowing what goes into your body and what it does to you. I know you two have your jobs to focus on like you always have but until you find the balance like Denzel has, you'll start forgetting that you're citizens obligated to live healthy as well as work."

"Keep roasting them like that and they might as well cook themselves," Terence comments from the living room as he relaxes on a sofa.

"Stay out of this, Terence," Sam gives the wolf a pointed look, tossing a plastic apple off the counter and onto his head.

"No playing with the decor, dear."

Around Mona, everyone feels like children, and it doesn't help that her fur is already mostly grey from birth so her age is a mystery, a secret only Creed knows. And to that she makes the room feel safe despite being the most frail, a present mother ever watchful.

She leaves the room in earnest, mumbling something about tending to her study.

Terence hops onto the seat by the counter, looking at Bogo. "So where are _you_ sleeping tonight?"

"I've a room in the hotel. I'll be bunking with my team."

"How many rooms do you guys even have?"

"Just the two," he says nonchalantly.

She raises a brow at him. "Wait a minute. Assuming Francine and maybe Clawhauser are sharing a room, how do you expect to share a room with three wolves, a lion and a tiger?"

"We're here on a job, not a vacation. We'll make it work."

" _Bullshit,_ I'm pulling out a futon and you're staying here!"

Terence almost makes mention that the sofa behind him is also a pull-out bed, but he readily keeps his mouth shut, chuckling to himself.

Bogo wants to stay with his squad but the idea of sharing a room with Sam is enticing, but he also knows Creed likes his peace and quiet when at home. "I don't think Creed will much like having another guest sleeping over."

"Bo, he likes you, I'm sure he'll be fine with it. Look, just let me go talk to him." And with that, Sam is out of the room.

Down the hall and up the stairs, she finds Creed's personal office, and behind the door she can hear him growl, tensions flaring. "What do you mean you lost it!?" she hears him shout, muffled by the door.

She hears his footsteps approach the door and jumps back to the side when it nearly slams into her face. He doesn't see her behind the door when Creed walks off into the hallway, presumably toward the balcony or his own room.

She almost makes to approach him but decides against it. It's probably just another bothersome issue with his deputies.

The hallway is silent for a few minutes and she grows impatient.

As she is about to leave, her eye catches a glimpse of something in Creed's office.

Curious, she walks in and sees the closet pressed against the wall, which is slightly ajar, the padlock hanging off one side.

She didn't walk in here feeling like a trespasser, cause Creed is nonchalant with her, but the padlock tells her she shouldn't be here, but she is.

Something shines in the gap in the closet, drawing her in as she bites her lip, stealing a glance behind her for only a moment.

Then she slides the door open, widely disappointed, if a little surprised, at what she sees.

"Huh, didn't think you could go boating here."


	14. Those Left Behind (pt. 2)

The sheriff's office.

After all that's happened, it will never rightfully belong to Ross, and had anyone told him that just a week ago, it would have devastated him. But right now he couldn't care less.

He takes a seat, eying the evidence gathered in reports from wherever they can find. He is almost certain Creed's people have found their own leads, leaving the rest of them in the dark, but he'll catch on, he's sure. The rumor mill runs wild with the deputies anyhow.

But in his spider web of contacts, he can do nothing but wait until one of them finds something feasible for him to take a step into.

He slumps into his seat, hand pressed against his forehead as he mulls over the coming days.

He has people stationed everywhere, on patrol or doing odd jobs, doing what he can to keep the community together and trusting the police. And it works, earning him favor amongst the townsfolk as he solves problems with sheer numbers, an idea he would readily admit if asked that it is inspired by Calvary himself.

In a way, it's giving back to the community that gave them the steady workforce in the station, but all Ross really wants is eyes and ears everywhere. But there is some semblance of grief in it, because the idea first came to him as a suggestion to Creed, to be offered the following day, but his lips were sealed the minute he lost his wife, plunging him into turmoil, of which will never leave him.

He deigns to soldier on despite, bare that cross till it kills him. But nowadays it feels like maybe he could hold on just a little longer.

His door slowly opens, a feminine hand gingerly at its nob. Then she enters, in all her unparalleled beauty, and he stifles a gasp.

"Ross?" Eli whispers as she steps into the room, timid yet worrisome, slowly approaching him.

He is painfully aware that she isn't real, an illusion birthed from his madness, so he dares not to respond, but it suffocates him, threatens to tear him apart.

She realizes that he's trying not to make eye contact, so she attempts to close the gap, steady steps towards him that causes his gut to stir. "What happened, Ross? Let me hear you out."

When he looks at her, he almost scares her. Confusion then masking his features. He tilts his head, senses something different and strange, screaming at him but he doesn't pay those thoughts any further mind, shaking his head.

"I lost my way," he says finally. "Still have. Don't know how to get back. It's too late anyway."

"It's never too late, Ross." Her tone is sweet and kind, never daring to judge him before he has his say.

So he reaches out for her, takes her hand in his, and cradles it. He feels the smooth texture of her fur against his, runs his fingers tentatively over her wrist and wonders just how far his delusions will take him.

He almost dares to challenge it, to take her in his arms and kiss her, to love her and keep her, to hold her till she disappears…

But then his eyes meet hers and sees the confusion — or perhaps the fear — in hers.

"Do you remember those days when things were simpler… kinder? You ever wonder if… if you did anything different, wouldn't it have changed anything? If it should've been you and not… someone else? Were circumstances different?"

She almost doesn't answer, not like he expects her to, but then she does, surprising him as she timidly looks away. "I didn't but… I have. Lately, that is."

She blushes, wildly and full red, shading her features in a cavalcade of pigment. And she is almost breathtaking, so painfully beautiful that he almost wishes he could lose himself to the illusion.

So he tries, dares to think of her as real but it doesn't sink in. He doesn't fall for it, cursing whatever fragments remain of his sanity. _Damn it all! Damn it all to hell!_

He almost breaks down, and she can see his features twist and churn. So she clutches his hand, lets him feel the strength in her grip. "Come back to us, Ross," she whispers, and it is both melody and poison in his ear.

Her free hand cups his cheek, drawing their eyes together again. "You don't have to be alone in this. At least let _me_ help you if no one else…"

Despite some hesitance, he slowly nods.

"But I need to know why," she says softly, but her look is stern yet pleading. She wants to hear him out, she wants him to tell her the truth. Almost needs him to be.

It feels like an eternity's wait as she lets him muster up the words. And she agonizes before he does, wretches inside as she strains herself to reach out for him.

But then the words come out of his mouth, and for a moment she's relieved. "I—" and then she is terrified, "—I'm doing this for us."

She gasps, taking a single sudden step back, flustering madly.

"So he stops haunting me in my dreams… till only you are in them." He stops looking at her, not wanting her to disappear just yet. Reveling in the sensation of her fingers between his and nothing else. "And when I'm done, I'll find you again. I swear it."

He lets go of her, slowly returning to his seat.

And by the time he gets there, she's already shut the door behind her.

* * *

Bucky's phone goes on the tone again after his seventh attempted call. "C'mon, buddy, answer your damn phone..."

He'd been calling him for the past hour, wanting to check up on him. This morning he called in sick but he lives alone and Bucky has long since been the one to take care of him whenever the oryx couldn't rightly take care of himself since he hardly bothers to.

Because he's reckless and lazy when he's not at work and he doesn't know which medicines do what and he's more than likely to just chug the whole medicine cabinet.

Bucky cuts through the plaza and sees a load of officers guarding the closed-off grounds of the Horace Memorial. "Wonder what happened here…"

After a brief glance at a dejected looking Liandra, he speeds passed, deciding not to poke and prod around there.

He makes his way to the west side of town to a neighborhood so small that it almost didn't qualify as one. It is lovingly called the Banana District because its architects happened to be monkeys and the construction workers got the wrong schematics and turned what was supposed to be a cul-de-sac into a curved road that was wider than reasonable.

It had made for a close-knit neighborhood but Smith has never been very good with people, dejecting to keep to himself. If he had friends this would have been easier.

The idea of him there all alone spurns him on, especially with his carelessness to boot. "Damn oryx not even manning his phone…" He attempts another call, one that soon fails.

With a hefty sigh, he accelerates, driving through the curved road toward a cozy two-story suburban home. For a nice looking place, it is clear that it hasn't had much in the way of caring for it. The roof is littered with leaves from its own trees and the driveway is a mess of overgrown foliage snaking over the cement.

Smith would have hired a gardener if it didn't cost so much. Which in his language is " _anything more than free."_

Bucky eyes the neighborhood, seeing the silhouettes of families and friends through the windows.

Smith's words echo back to him, the quiet isolation burrowed beneath his excuses and his signature smile. _"Folk 'ere are domestic. Got their own circles, their own family and friends… No place for a man like me."_

" _You need friends in your own area, Smith. It won't hurt you if you try."_

" _You're the only friend I need, Sammy. You and Asha that is."_

Pushing the fence door open, he is witness to his collection of garden gnolls, haphazardly strewn together in his garden out of garage sale bargains and what may or may not have been stolen from elsewhere. Smith doesn't even like garden gnolls.

Bucky steadies his steps over the front porch, feels the wood beneath his hooves and wonders when was the last time he shared a drink with his oldest friend here? _I'll make a point to see to it next week. Wouldn't mind a bit of whiskey._

He raps at the door. "Smith? C'mon, buddy, open the door!"

No answer.

He hesitates for only a moment before reaching into his pocket and producing a spare key attached to his key ring. Bucky doesn't like using it, preferring to leave the man with his privacy, but he sucks up whatever self-imposed moral barriers he has and unlocks the door.

Inside, Smith's living room opens up with a set of ornate clocks from around the globe strewn about the walls. On the coffee table, a stack of random magazines that have never been opened. And the floor itself is covered in several varying rugs, most of which ordered from the Middle East.

Like the front yard it is a gallery of one's longing for some sort of passion, one idea after the other about what kind of collector he should be. A search for an identity, of a man who does not yet know who he is.

And as he walks over the carpets, he finds dirt brushed onto his pant leg from an audible puff from the material. "Hire a maid at least…"

He checks the rooms briefly.

A half-eaten breakfast waffle in the kitchen, a pair of plates he hasn't cleaned yet, and a sandwich maker with too many burnt crumbs and cheese stuck to its insides.

The dining is room is empty and far too dusty in some places. The only pristine thing here is the china Asha bought for him, displayed immaculately behind a glass cabinet.

The bathroom is clear and even flushed, clear white tiles that tell him that perhaps this is the cleanest room in the house.

His garage still has his truck, various supplies sitting in the rear. "Prepping for a trip, Smith?"

Smith is nowhere to be found, which surprises Bucky since he usually watches TV on the sofa on sick days. "Maybe he finally decided to sleep in his own bed for this one."

He returns to the living room and slides into a nondescript door tucked between some decorative shelves, well away from the unobservant eye.

"Smith?" he calls up to the staircase there. "You up there, buddy?"

For a moment he hears nothing, a dejected sigh leaving him as he decides that his friend is probably asleep.

Then he hears movement upstairs, and at first they relieve him, making him think Smith is actually at home and that he hasn't wasted his time… but then the footsteps have a certain pace to them, a weight that he recognizes is nothing that an oryx could make.

It's too loud, lumbering, and could not possibly be Smith's. And suddenly he fears the worst.

He almost hesitates but he pulls out his pocket knife after summoning some steely resolve, then sprints up the stairs.

On the second floor he is cautious as he scans the hallway. Every door is left wide open, as if someone had been frantically going through them.

He peeks over each one, eying the empty rooms with scrutiny and fear, constantly checking behind himself. Bucky is notably scared out of his mind, and he can't help but feel compelled to skim the rooms so he can be out there quicker.

But it isn't too long until he hears rustling down the end of the hall, somewhere in Smith's bedroom.

He crouches as he approaches, ready to fight or run for his life. He even notes the window at the end of the hall, preparing himself to perchance gravity rather than encounter Carrion.

Before he reaches the bedroom, he hears a grunt followed by footsteps that he sincerely hopes isn't towards the door. Then a claw reaches for the doorframe, clamping menacingly onto it and he knows nothing but terror.

He almost yelps when the figure emerges, until he realizes who it is. "Sheriff?"

"Sambaure?" is the hefty polar bear's reply.

Bucky almost turns around to see who he's talking to until he realizes that that's his name and that Sheriff Creed is just about the only person in town who can pronounce it right.

He shakes his head, focusing moreover on the strange sight before him. "What are you doing here, sheriff?"

"Same reason you are, looking for Smith... and he doesn't appear to be here." Creed looks back into the bedroom with disappointment. "We should check the swamp."

"The swamp? He called in sick this morning, Creed, why would he even be there?"

Creed looks at him in surprise, a sense of sympathy overcoming him. "Sick? I'm afraid to say that your friend has lied to you. He's lost one of my boats and perhaps assumed that he left it in the swamp from his last trip. Must've spent the whole day looking for it. He called me just an hour ago, before nightfall, confessing that he'd lost it and I told him I'd simply come over."

Bucky doesn't know how to feel, frustration or something else, and all it does is worry him. "Smith… lied to me? No, I… could've helped him look if he was honest…"

Creed notes that his dejection is entirely on the lie, unaware of darker fates lurking in the back of the sheriff's mind. Bucky doesn't even seem to consider Carrion, and perhaps the old bear finds comfort in that, considering less tragic circumstances.

But if Smith were in his place, he'd certainly fear the worst. "And then what? Leave your shop unattended with your wife and son alone, unprotected?" Creed speaks as if he's always known, and Bucky can see it in his stoic gaze, where it is honest and true, that these words are almost straight out of Smith's own mouth.

Bucky shakes his head, trying not to mull over it too hard. "It's… not that big a deal anymore. We have deputies stationed there now."

" _He_ didn't know that. And it wouldn't have mattered. Smith has a very small circle of friends, and even fewer who are closer than that, and as such he recognizes that the most important people in your life are currently in danger for as long as you are all staying in town. But he can't ask you to leave, so he'll settle with leaving you all together, never apart."

Bucky doesn't respond, simply following Creed down the hall towards the stairs. He wishes he knew this beforehand, so that perhaps they could have worked something out, let his best friend aid him. The swamp is a dangerous place after all and it's never advisable to go there alone, especially after what happened with Marcus's brother all those years ago.

Creed takes no comfort from the silence the buck gives him, clearly lost in his own thoughts as he follows him robotically into the first floor. So Creed decides to breach it. "Since the resurgence of Carrion, he has done nothing but worry for you and your family. He wants you all safe and secure, never wanting to be a bother. Could you blame him for wanting to let you keep what so many others have lost?"

"You act like Carrion is watching us."

"I'll be honest, it feels like he almost always is."

Then a dangerous thought reaches Bucky, eyes widening in a fitful panic. "You don't think Carrion has him, do you…?" Then the look of horror burns into his features. " _Oh my god, his car is still in the garage_!" He stifles a gasp, cupping his mouth.

"He borrowed mine," Creed says flatly. "Let's not jump to conclusions." He tries to stay calm himself but it's clear that it's all just a front, a clear attempt to placate him as well as himself.

But it doesn't work, Bucky quickly pulling out his phone. "Look, just let me call him."

There is a moment of ambivalent silence between them as Creed looks about the living room they're in whilst Bucky looks for Smith's number.

Creed hadn't checked the first floor yet, and he supposes he should have but he knows the upper floor is where that excitable oryx haunts most of the time, mulling over other hobbies and perhaps what to do with his life beyond the gun shop. And in Smith's youth, Creed recognizes the similarities, the want to be something more than you are. Because Creed remembers wanting that, and the need to help the oryx through it only grew.

And suddenly a muffled vibration against fabric echoes in the room, drawing their attention to the flashing phone tucked behind a sofa pillow.

Bucky almost tears up when Creed takes it, spawning the most terrible thoughts he can manage. He can feel his fears realized, snaking through him till his knees nearly buckle and he drops his phone, lips quivering as his shaking hands takes the phone from Creed's, himself just as shocked, so stiff that the bear almost looks paralyzed.

Creed wants to say something to rationalize it, that maybe he just left it and forgot but the words die in his throat because he'd never believe it himself. Because that would only serve as a pathetic lie, clinging to feeble hopes, poisoning his resolve when he is inevitably proven wrong.

And when the phone goes silent, the dread in the room seems to expand, making Bucky dizzy and Creed balls his fist, damning the demon in the town beneath a cage of grit teeth.

Then the phone vibrates again, a text just newly received.

Bucky almost doesn't read it, shaking hands only barely able to hold the phone, let alone open it. But then he finds that text is from an unknown number, and a quiet resolve overcomes him.

Quickly swiping open the phone, the message reads: "too late".

Creed takes the phone from him the minute Bucky's eyes widen in furtherance of his abject terror. And when he reads it, he realizes how close Carrion has to be to time it's message.

So he bolts out of the living room, practically slamming into the front door with Bucky stumbling behind.

And when they're out on the road, they see only Bucky's car… _and Creed's tattered rubber boat splayed over it._

* * *

Calvary stokes the flames in his heart, letting rage ignite his edges like a burning aura, because fury is tangible, an emotion easy to understand, easy to handle. But sorrow is a torrent that washes over him in trickles until it becomes a flood, erupting in his heart until it overwhelms him, pouring out of his soul till it suffocates his rage, dimming that flame until it dies, and its ashes drown in sea of pains and regrets, last chances and moments lost to time.

And again he almost weeps, and surely would have had he been alone.

An sits in the corner of his office, dismantling her glock on his coffee table, cleaning the pieces to keep herself busy. But her eyes would wander every once in a while to the pensive lion at his desk, Kayla's wine bottle rolling in his hand.

The room is dim but the large windows behind him shed pale moonlight into the room, but not on his face. And he hopes that the shadows hide him well enough, but he forgets that she can see in the dark.

She watches his face twist into a scowl that is clearly far too forced, and then it disappears beneath the grief laid bare, betraying the mask he dares to keep, the one he wears in public, and in the light where he is exposed.

But his sorrows remain, etched into his skin with his every motion, laced into every word. And even his sigh is a cavalcade of those emotions, the way it heaves his aching chest, the way it burns against his throat as it quiets at the end.

And she would be no different had she not been tasked to safeguard him. She wants him to feel safe in the very least, but she knows that even if she was the stoic embodiment of security, it would do him no good.

Because Calvary is far more concerned about everyone else's safety. His own health be damned.

"How are the Rivers?" she asks suddenly, nearly cursing at herself for speaking up, especially about something so sensitive.

"Bit of a mess. They asked how I manage to stay strong," he responds flatly, followed by a dry chuckle. "Funny how that is. Biggest mess in town and folk 'ere still think I got it _all_ figured out."

He rolls the bottle once more before leaving it still, staring into glass fogged up in food coloring to appear like wine.

"Truth is," he continues, "I'm really no different from you. I just hide behind a very different kind o' person, but I hide all the same."

She isn't even the slightest bit surprised that he can see through her, and even if he wasn't so observant, in the very least he'd notice how her usual energy is gone, the flirting having long since stopped, and her raunchy attitude tucked away beneath her suit.

She looks up at him a little expectantly, matching his distant gaze as his mind wanders the room, chasing ghosts that aren't there.

An wants him to look at her, but simultaneously wishes he doesn't. Because she doesn't know what to think or how to feel anymore, and even the slightlest hint of what that she _should_ be feeling would be a blessing. But no signs come and she is left to writhe on her own.

Calvary himself wishes he knew how to act around her, unsure if the old him would appear too fake or if the current him is far too depressing and does no one good, and anything else she'll just see through. So he settles with whatever comes.

With a quiet a sigh, An splays herself over the sofa, eyes away from him and onto the ceiling.

"World ain't never gonna be the way it used to be, ain't it?"

She almost doesn't respond, but she knows why he says it, and can't help but feel the same. "I miss her too, Cal."

His head rises to look at her, no longer content with staring at his wall or his desk, finding her in the dark as he dares to decipher what he expects is a puzzle of a face, but he is surprised to find that she makes no attempts to hide what she's feeling now, about ready to collapse into herself, to ball and squirm underneath that overbearing pressure.

"Sometimes I wonder how differently things could have gone if I was there a minute sooner or if I looked in a different direction, or if I did my job instead of trying to have fun. A thousand stupid, pointless thoughts that do nothing to change what's happened, nothing but make me feel worse as a person."

Her hands rest against her chest, cupping her still beating heart, praying that there's still a chance she can trade it for hers. "But what can you do, right, Cal? Sometimes the world sticks you with something you can't get rid of and even though you know it shouldn't bother you, it does anyway and it feels like it'll stay with you forever."

He wishes there was another facet to her, a twinge of anger that justifies his own, that tells him that he isn't alone in daring to hide the pain, but there isn't. She is nothing but the writhing mess that he is, grief sinking into her every feature until she embodies it and loses any semblance of strength.

And it isn't as if he has any himself, hiding in the shadows, thinking it would protect his sense of security, another feeble and pointless thought he dwells on just like her.

She curls into the cushions, takes a sofa pillow and clutches it to her. A twinge of envy laces itself into her words, an honesty she wishes she didn't have. "I hate that this town gets to pretend the pain doesn't exist…"

It's a notion he is familiar with, and he leans back into his seat. And for the first time in what feels like weeks, he chuckles. "I did once too…"

She looks at him as he eyes the ceiling, and she sees the genuine sense of nostalgia radiating off of him.

"Came 'ere as a boy, years before we met, and I saw nuthin' but smiles from ear to ear wherever I went. And even as young as I was, I recognized just how… _artificial_ they were. Everyone was so _god-damn polite_ and none of them felt _real._ By some harrowin' contrast, I actually felt unsafe around 'em. But I was too young to understand."

"War was in the horizon, off on the edges of our country and the town contributed friends and family to fuel this country's machine for war. Anyone old enough to wield a gun, even boys fresh out o' college who didn't know what to do with themselves just yet were shipped off to a war so far away that I didn't even think it was even a real problem at the time."

"But this town… it felt it. Ached at every telegraphed loss, every letter that stopped comin' and every medal hand delivered in honorable service. This town… it had long since adapted to situations like these. Where everyone felt pain, fear, and they'd hide behind a sense o' forced joy. Even _they_ knew it wasn't real, but there was no way in hell they were goin' to tear this town apart by lettin' it fall into depravity. Folk 'ere needed to function to keep the place runnin', so they decided to pretend there was nuthin' wrong."

"I don't think I've ever seen this town when it wasn't tryin' to hide behind its own pains. I'm not sure they even know what respite even feels like anymore."

"Worst of it is: the cracks are startin' to show." He rises from his seat, feeling an unsteady sense of something overwhelming yet not unwelcome sink into his skin. "And I can feel it now. That unsavory rapture culminatin' inside. They all feel it, lettin' it buildin' inside where all it feels like is _fire._ Brandin' us with that devil's touch. And… I'm not gonna lie. I think I'd quite like to have this feelin' fulfilled."

It's then that he finally feasibly finds his rage, makes it tangible as he looks out into the town behind him, watching it go nocturnal as the night life burns lights into the horizon. A small town like this has nary any neon, but enough fluorescent lights with just about every 24/7 place armed with enough alcohol to drown out your fears in, and he'll soak in their drunken songs as if he was drinking himself, and he'll lose himself in it.

_Claws bared, crowned by a toothy, almost sadistic grin under a low, steady growl. His is the ire of a people, the ire that justifies the inferno in his heart, the unabated need for reprisal, to take from a demon that which was stolen from him. Paid in flesh, and blood. Corrupting and unkind, a sensation that almost feels like it belongs to him now, as if gifted by the devil in town, laced against his claws, tainting a just and kind man, until his hands are vindicated, bloodied._

And now An can feel it too, but the rage doesn't overtake, because what she finds is something else. A strange sense of excitement, the unparalleled need to satiate the murderous intent inside of her. And as she takes to her disassembled glock, she quickly reassembles it, the pieces sliding into place, cocking it just after.

_Senses alert, a scent in the air that is familiar, unreal, hers and no one else's, the scent of a child taken from her, the last semblance of hope someone beyond salvation was ever going to achieve. A weapon in hand like a mallet to judge for herself, execute by her own discretion. Hers is the wound of a thousand cuts, the pains beyond a hundred deaths, all to be exacted, paid in full, ripped from Carrion, to be taken even when his heart has long stopped beating._

More and more they feel like they're becoming monsters, and less and less do they care. Because solace is miles away and they're limping, resolve tucked behind a welcome sense of an unchecked need for some twisted sense of justice. They feel that that is the only way they'd ever feel righted.

Cause all the world could go to hell if they could just get their hands on Carrion.

And yet in the back of their minds, in a place they dare to hide away, is a thought that looms over this possession poisoning their souls. It dips into their hearts, and would make them wretch if they allowed it to be any more than a passing thought.

_That if Kayla could see them now, she would see them no different from Carrion._

* * *

When Nick and Judy finally make it back to the hotel, they barely have the energy to even speak to Keen, who thankfully decides that they've dealt with enough so he opts not to bother them, resorting only to waving at them.

When they reach the elevator, they regrettably find it crowded, with too many of them whispering inane gossip between themselves as their eyes draw to the famous detectives present.

_They're the ones looking for Carrion!_

_She's a little young for him, isn't she? And small too._

_Aren't they cute together?_

_They don't look very competent. We should just skip town and wait out Carrion._

_Why are they armed?_

_I heard the fox is Carrion. Keep your distance._

_Are they even fit for duty when they're so short?_

It doesn't bother them, really, rumor mills are a thing of the city. Towns merely have them pass through lips, but Zootopia has them splayed out on magazines and on the news, blogs and videos, in enough places to make voices in an elevator seem small by comparison, ignorable even.

So there is some comfort when they realize it doesn't even move them, despite them being so incredibly tired.

And further comforts come when a young bear cub just an inch shy of Judy's height meanders towards them, almost shyly as his mother urges him from behind. "O-one day I'll be a detective just like you!" he proudly announces, awkwardly saluting them.

Judy swoons at the cute little thing, quickly pulling out her wallet and taking out a sticker badge from it.

But instead of her usual speech, she lets Nick take the lead as he pats the cub on the head. "You don't have to sell yourself short, kid. You can be a lot of things, and they can all be more than just being a detective. Aim high, work for it, and soon you'll realize just how much more you can be."

The cub immediately thinks of being an astronaut, or president, and he bubbles off his edges, his tiny furs garnering goosebumps.

Judy leans down to meet his eyes. "But if a detective is what you'll want to be, then one day I'll see you at the academy, and I'll cheer you on myself. That future is yours if you want it. So do you want it?"

Reminded of his dream, he proudly salutes again, straight and proper this time, a determined look on his face. "Yes ma'am!"

She places the sticker-badge onto his chest, pressed gently till it almost tickles him. "Then I have no doubt that it'll be yours."

The elevator then stops on their floor and the pair emerges from the crowd.

A few more whispers pass between the citizens, but the mother and cub only wave goodbye, the little one barely able to contain himself just a second before the doors shut, jumping and announcing to his mother just how excited he is, loud enough for the room to hear.

"They raise most kids pretty good here, don't they?" Nick comments, placing a hand over Judy's shoulder.

"With a town this polite? I'm honestly not surprised." Naysayers and gossips aside, it seems the town is mostly as kind as advertised. It's far from perfect, but Judy believes that perhaps this town might be a good place to settle down after all. That is, if Carrion had never showed up to begin with.

Nick on the other hand has a change of opinion. If the people were just as pleasant, maybe he could just buy his dream house in one go. Miss Avery would certainly be willing to sell her old "cottage" if a place as big and magnanimous as that could even be called that.

It's then that Nick turns to the steady figure of Judy, walking ahead of him a bit of confidence in her step. She seems rather sure of herself. "Pretty big promise back there, Carrots," he says, a bit of caution in his tone. "Especially to a kid. We don't even know if he'll even stay the course."

"Kid's got a strong backbone and his ambition is bubbling off the edges. He's got the material."

He entirely expected her to make a comment about how much like herself the kid was, but that wasn't what passed through her lips. "That was far more objective than I was expecting. Since when did you start scrutinizing children beyond the size of their gigantic eyes?" He gestures, perhaps to some comedic effect, but it is lost when his face sports nothing but concern.

"Consider it a consequence of being around you all the time." She is nonchalant about it, the hint of something else in her voice. She is well aware about how bothered he is, but she is only waiting for the right way to reassure him.

"I'll be honest, it's kind of worrying me." His concern is tangible because she understands it, has seen it matt his face with enough impact to mar his confidence. He can feel _himself_ changing and it's a prospect that terrifies him, and of course it would only get worse if there was even a chance his partner was changing too.

She sighs, stopping in front of their room.

She turns to meet his gaze and places her hands over his, looking up at him with the same bolstering look he remembers. "I haven't changed, Nick. I'm sorry if I worried you but I just happen to still have my work eyes on. It wouldn't have changed what I said to him, but I'm not going anywhere, alright? I'm still me."

His fears are already dispelled, but he decides to play into it, sink into whatever it is he has before him. "Still the bunny I love?"

She almost repeats the moniker, that same _answer a question with a question_ thing they do but she decides to get right to the chase. "Yes, yes I am."

Suddenly the proximity between them becomes incredibly inviting and he decides to rest his forehead on hers.

And then Clawhauser opens his door, opposite of theirs.

"Oh wow, sorry, am I interrupting something?" He wants them to be embarrassed and quickly pull away, but they don't, much to his disappointment.

Instead they shrug, stating, "Not really," as they pull away from each other.

"Settling in well enough there, Spots?" Nick asks, waving at Francine who spots them both as she kicks her wide legs over her bed.

"Hey, you two," the elephant greets. "You two got a room to yourselves, huh?"

"Got here first," Judy states proudly.

"First dibs privileges," Nick adds.

The pair looks into their neatly made and relatively empty room. "So… where are the rest of the boys?"

Clawhauser points to next door. "They're sleeping in the next room but Fangmeyer is sleeping in his favorite APC, he brought some bedding he hid in the storage compartment too, and Wolford is bunking in with us. He's just cleaning up in the back."

Judy raises a brow, mimicking Nick. "That only leaves out two wolves. How are they all sleeping in there?"

"Snarlov and Lupin have taken to the sofas, while Fangmeyer and Delgato have the beds."

The pair looks at each other, then back at the still confused leopard. At this point it should have been obvious so what don't they understand?

"Okay…" Nick says slowly, "so where's the chief sleeping?"

_Oh._

Realizing that they have no idea about it, the leopard can then only barely contain his excitement, giggling almost uncontrollably before final speaking. "Oh-" a final giggle "-he's at Creed's." He pauses. "In the guest room…" he nearly screams, " _with Sam._ " He announces the last as if it was the hottest piece of gossip. And, honestly, right now it very well could have.

Because it's a delight to hear, something to get their minds off the town, letting them sink into its nonsense.

And for a moment they let themselves go, talking for longer than they should be about it. Clawhauser rambles about how it should have happened sooner, and Judy wonders if he'll even be able to put up with her. It's only until Francine decides to invite them in do they realize how long they've been standing outside.

They regrettably decline the invitation, telling them that they've been meaning to settle in after everything that's happened today but they promise to try tomorrow night instead.

Finally inside their room, Judy is the first to plop into bed, just about ready to fall asleep right there and then but she knows she needs to get clean first.

Nick, however, beats her to it as he slides into the bathroom. Judy's mouth twists into a tiny scowl, and all he does is wink at her. "You're welcome to join me if you like."

She just rolls her eyes with a smile, physically resisting trying to flirt back. Instead she takes her phone, filing through her notes.

She knows she shouldn't be focusing on work when the day winds down. Bogo told her just earlier today that they should take every measure to ensure that they are efficient and, well, _sane._ And he used that word with enough clarity and seriousness to ingrain in her — and hopefully Nick — that Bogo has been on this case long enough to know how important that is.

So she clasps a hand over her eyes and lies back, letting her phone fall softly onto the mattress. With a short groan, she announces herself to the quiet of the room, and Nick, who has been sitting silently in the shower, hears her.

"You alright there, Carrots?"

"I'm fine, Nick. Just finish your shower so I can hop in." She wants moreover to get her mind off the case, and running water in a clean room will do just that.

And he knows this, because the Victorian designs, gold linings, whitened tiles that almost appear marble and the general pristine motif of the room reminds him of Halberd and its antiquated castles. Together it creates a virulent departure from the rugged, almost simple, aesthetic of the town. And he'd stay here all night if he could.

"I can turn around," he calls out to her.

She shoots her head up, not sure she understands what he means but the inkling of something suggestive inspires rather concerning thoughts. "What do you mean, Nick?"

"You can join me and we don't have to look at each other so it'll be fine."

To anyone else it would have been a strange suggestion, with any other pair it would have been embarrassing and even sexual, but to them it isn't. Because to her it is an invitation to comfort, to share in it with him in a place detached from the town. And to him it is a want for intimacy, to feel her back pressed against his, a reminder of who shares in his woes.

He doesn't want to leave the shower, not yet, and she wouldn't ask him to leave. And with a final glance at her phone — which she finds herself reaching for — she decides that she needs to leave the bedroom.

"I'm coming in," she says as she enters the bathroom.

But instead of joining him, she hops onto the large elephantine sink, and closes the cap. "I'll just bathe in here, Nick."

Nick chuckles. "I forget how small you are."

"Har har," she responds dryly, letting hot water fill the tub-like sink. She almost considers how strange it is that she's doing this but a sink large enough to comfortably cradle the girth of an elephant's hands shouldn't be ignored for its other potential uses.

So then she slowly dips into it, feels it heat her fur and lift the dirt off, and suddenly her core feels the warmth circulating over it, causing her to sigh happily.

Nick sits down against the falling waters and he looks to see Judy's silhouette against the frosted glass of the shower door. She is relaxed, like he is, and he almost makes a snide comment, but he decides not to.

"What are you thinking about, Nick?" she asks suddenly, watchful eyes spotting his silhouette too, seeing him shift against the tiled floors as his eyes, distorted yet burning green, seem to drift elsewhere.

He considers his answer for a moment, thinking a serious one is too unopportunistic, so he considers a bold one instead. "You, mostly," he says smoothly, the sensual nature of it not lost to her.

Her visible shift in place to cover herself causes him to snidely grin.

"Are you peeking?!" Nick to her has never been a pervert, because being suggestive is another thing entirely, marked with a certain charm that is most certainly his, but the idea of him being so brazenly lewd is… out of character.

It's then that she realizes that he's only making fun of her, burning a pout on her face so vivid he can feel it boring through the glass. "You're a major jerk, you know that?"

"I'm _your_ jerk, Fluff." He stifles a chuckle with a knuckle, coughing an _ahem_ to silence himself, killing the grin. But then a soft smile takes its place. "I'm not lying though. Forgive a sentimental fox but I am worried about you."

She twiddles her thumbs over her soap, trying not to look at his silhouette whose body language would have been enough to tell her how he feels. "Forgive a sentimental bunny for feeling much the same." Her eyes then trace his figure that has shifted to place his back against the glass door. "I'm here for you, Nick. What's wrong?"

He does his best not to wield the soap in an ironclad grip reminiscent of his pistol, and yet he nearly snaps its soft contours in two, deciding instead to toss it against the wall. "Nothing you don't already know." His eyes drift upward to her again, and he can see her hands slide to the base of her neck, a pensive habit of hers that he recognizes on their time on the skytrams. "What about you, Judes?"

"I'm just… homesick."

"I know you are, but why? I know it's nothing so simple, Judes. What aren't you telling me?"

She barely brings herself to say it, but then she catches the sheen of his green eyes, honest and true, and she knows that keeping it from him will do neither of them any good. "Bogo and Sam are here," she admits as she sinks a little further into the water as if to hide herself after she catches him blink and tilt his head.

"So?" He tries to sound more concerned than anything else, but he only comes off confused.

"They're here, Nick, back on their old case together. They can take it from here, fill the rest of the spaces so we can go home. We don't have to be here anymore. We can go home and… forget."

"Judy, we—"

"I'm sorry, Nick," she interrupts as she presses her palms over her clenched eyelids in embarrassment and frustration, tearing them away quickly as she leans against the sink's edge. He even used her real name, something he does when most desperate or dire. She then sighs, weighted with enough of her fears that he can feel it tugging her down. "You know I'd never actually go through with it but… I can't help but want to go home. And the longer we're here with them, the more appealing it sounds."

He is scarce to disagree, because he can already feel the comforts of home when he closes his eyes. His wide bed, the modest warmth of the kitchen, the cozy confines of his cheap sofa. But the illusion is fleeting, gone in the next as his arms cross defensively as the pitter patter of the shower reminds him that he only has a tub at home, and he's never owned a shower in his life. "I'll admit, I miss it too, and I don't know what I'd give to be there right now but you and I both know that we'd never live with ourselves if we leave, if we don't see this through."

He knows exactly how she's feeling and she is no different from him. She can see the cracks in his heart mirror her own, the same semblance of weakness leaking into their tones, the solid stoicism that almost feels like a mask. But in spite of their pains, Judy is overwhelmed with the idea that he understands every facet of her. And even though she does not feel any safer than she already does, she does feel much more secure.

Because they are not each other's protectorate. Instead they stand on evened ground, back-to-back as comrades on days most dire. He is her equal, in enough ways to feel like she is never alone, and always independent, as much a contribution to their success as the other.

And this overwhelms her, almost making her smitten were she not so incredibly gleeful. She starts with a smile, one he feels burn into his heart. "Nick, I love you. I still have no idea what that even really means anymore but just know that I love you."

And there she goes again, echoing him before he even has the chance to figure out how to articulate it like she does. "Oh now you've ruined me. How am I going to respond to that with anything better than 'me too'," he jokes, the ghost of a laugh skimming his voice.

She places her hands on her chest, giggling at him. "Take me to lunch and I'll call it even."

She can practically feel his grin. "Miss Hopps, are you asking me out on date?"

"Do you want it to be?" She's flirting again and this excites him, because she is just everything that he once felt he could never have. Delightful, gorgeous, sweet and dependable, a cocktail of enough things he felt he was never good enough for, and yet there she is, only a few feet away, delighting in his company.

She then hops out of the sink as she opens the drain, catching Nick's curious glance in the mirror at her lithe figure. There is only a moment of embarrassment before she wraps herself in her towel.

He takes this cue to walk out himself, staying in the bathroom so he can put on his clothes. But when the water stops, there is a silence in the adjacent rooms that fills the air. And Nick can practically feel his heart racing.

But he steels himself, shaking the thoughts out of his head before his big mouth decides to speak them.

He comes out to see her dressed in his boxers again on the sofa. "Couldn't dig through your own bag, huh?" he comments as he drapes his towel over a chair.

"Well you left it lying around. Plus this is my favorite pair." She wiggles her legs in them, feeling the fabric rest comfortably against her fur.

He doesn't argue, plopping himself into a seat next to her. She then shifts to lean her back against his shoulder.

"Actually," she begins, "about that lunch. Take me out to breakfast this Friday instead. I heard Sam and Bogo are going out for coffee at Catfrani and I'm… well, I'm curious."

He raises a quizzical yet overwhelmingly proud brow. "You want dirt on the chief, don't you?"

"It'll get me out of parking duty one of these days." She attempts nonchalance but it does nothing to hide how much she actually wants it.

He's so smug right now she swears she can feel it edging off his lips. "I'm rubbing off on you, aren't I?"

She is scarce to disagree, and she honestly wishes that bothered her more, but he's right after all. His conman philosophies tell that being prepared for anything provides some sense of comfort in being secured on that front on the off chance it ever makes itself an issue, no matter how dirty it almost feels.

But then she looks up to see that grin plastered over his face and she playfully rolls her eyes. "Do I have to make mention about your little spiel with the cub earlier? Or how you're a law-abiding citizen now? Or maybe I should start with the way you religiously do your taxes every month now?"

It's clear that she's been a heavy influence on him as well and it shows. He's cleaner, far kinder than he was and just confident enough to not appear like a jerk. He's snide but charming, rugged but easy. There is pride in knowing she helped make that, prouder still when he tosses his wallet off the sofa and onto the coffee table where his badge glistens between the folds.

It's then that her phone rings. She almost doesn't answer but Nick urges her to do so. When she realizes who it is, she puts it on loud speaker for the both of them.

It starts with the cautionary tone of Terence on the other end. "Hey, Judy, we got a problem here in the Banana District. We've got another crime scene you guys should maybe look at."

"Someone go missing?"

"Yeah, Goddard Smith from Buckshot. We're at his place off the rotunda. District is small so you can't miss us. If you two can make it here fast enough, we can have you lead the analysis and — Oh! Sam and Bogo are here!"

A sense of urgency overcomes her, but she doesn't know if it is coupled by anxiety or caution. Because it might lead to nowhere, or it could provide further insight into the case. Either way, it had to be checked out.

And then she regards Nick, about ready to suggest that they go now, but she swallows her words when she sees his face.

The pain in his eyes is so vivid that she can feel it pouring out of him. It ripples through his body, tangible and fierce as his muscles tense and his eyes slowly shut closed. She almost forgets that Smith was an old friend of his, and now he's gone.

Carrion has struck a personal chord and it rips into him, keeping him still as he stares into nothing. He almost makes to stand up, perhaps to change out and go, but he is grounded to his seat, legs making no effort to give.

"Judy?" Terence's voice draws Nick out of his stupor and into another one, scaring him into falling back into his seat.

He would have whipped out his gun were it on hand, and a sense of dread overwhelms him when he realizes the weapon is close by, further terrified when he realizes that he feels safer with it than without.

Judy then placates him as a gentle hand takes his arm, dragging his eyes toward the concerned bunny before him.

"Sorry, Terence, we'll be calling it a night," her words shock Nick, unsure of what to make if it under his muddled train of thought. "We're sure you guys can take care of it yourselves. Especially with Sam and the chief there."

"Really? Well… alright. You guys have a good night then. We'll send you the details of our findings when we have them."

She bids him goodbye and leaves her phone at the table. She gets off the wide sofa and pulls Nick along.

At first he thinks they're leaving, to skip town like they talked about, but she doesn't. She pulls him to bed, leaving him on the side as she crawls onto the mattress, sitting in front of him.

"Judy…?"

She looks up at him, placing a gentle hand over his chest. "Let's forget the rest of the world and sleep it off, alright?"

"I…"

Her hand rises to his chest, feels his beating heart brace over it. "Shhh… Just try."

As she pulls back, his knee falls onto the mattress, mouth still slightly agape, still unsure of how to feel or what to do.

She crawls away and slides into her side in the sheets, patting the other side, inviting him in.

With some semblance of clarity, or perhaps unrest, he decides to join her, and let his mind wander.

Hands to themselves and on either sides of the bed, Judy leans over to shut the lights off.

And there, in the darkness of the room, Nick's eyes slowly flutter shut.

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

Slow days bring the most delight to Smith, it means he can spend his time admiring the shop instead of trying to sell anything. He enjoys the guns on hand in Buckshot, years of craftsmanship that evolved beyond the bow, where death from a distance proved deadlier than a blade.

Such rich history is compacted in every weapon, an idea for how it should work, how it should handle. And all types and too many models to count are all within reaching distance in the shop. But his favorite is the only one not on the shelves but behind the counter, left there just for him.

The Coach Gun is a close-quarter shotgun, a deadly double-barreled weapon that can make a gator's head and its body a long distance relationship.

And with that in his hands, he can't help but take the time to polish it. And he won't deny that there is an appeal to deadly steel cradled by polished wood, smooth to the touch and gentle in his grip.

But his admiration does not stop him from noticing Nick walk into the shop whilst a weasel slips in behind him.

Smith notes Nick's scarf which is draped down his front like a boxer's towel. "John, is that cashmere?"

Nick picks it with his fingers, a little surprised at the oryx. "Huh, didn't think people in this town even knew what that was. It is, actually. I'm impressed."

He shrugs. "I've got an eye fer things. People especially. For example: the weasel over there."

Nick takes a quick glance at his current partner-in-crime Lorenzo Valentino, eying up the shop behind his shades. Though the white suit and gold chain do little to make the man appear intimidating if a little gaudy instead, there is some credit to his slicked fur and proper posture. "Yeah, what about him?"

"He ain't here to buy. Just lookin' at the smaller guns to see which one would fit in his hands fer when he orders them illegally. He's got no wallet on 'im, either." Nick notices the lack of a bulge in Lorenzo's pocket too. But he supposes even Lorenzo's fake bills would never fool Smith anyway.

"What makes you think he's a criminal?" he asks the oryx.

"He ain't touchin' anythin', didn't even touch the door when you two came in. Plus he checked the ceilin' fer cameras. Ain't exactly the most subtle type, ain't he? Coulda just worn gloves but with the way he's dressed, I doubt he'd wear anythin' that'd throw off his aesthetic. Got people to impress it seems."

Nick says nothing in response. Lorenzo's meet up with the Lucianos is soon to come. Thusly, Nick is on his way out of town to never have to deal with the weasel again. Drugs just aren't his thing, not even dealing them. All he's doing now is fulfilling his end of a deal, and heading home, leaving this town behind him.

"You're with him too, aren't ya?" Smith continues. "The only car outside is likely his but he's a weasel who clearly likes to look important, and in a car that fancy and with the booster seat on the passenger side, that means that you're the one drivin'. And you normally don't drive, John, so not only is it important, it's all business. No way you'd take the wheel for a friend if you could help it."

"You been looking into me too, old pal? I'm flattered," Nick jokes, smiling up at him.

He chuckles, shaking his head. But then he smiles sadly, not really meeting his gaze. "You know, I'd like to say I'd got you pinned down but I don't think even you know who you are."

Nick's signature grin fades then too, but his lips still curl upward, trying not to look fazed. "And what makes you say that?"

"Well ya' swagger about the place and talk all clever-like but it's clear it's all an act. And it seems like you think it's the real you, like you've told yerself that lie enough times to even fool yerself."

Nick adopts a neutral look himself, leaning against the counter as the oryx above him cleans his gun. "Alright, then tell me, who _is_ the real me?"

"I don't rightly know. Most I can gather is his name ain't _John._ "

Nick's alias calls to memory something else when he hears it exposed like that, a stray thought of a loving father who would have a fit if he knew what kind of job he was pulling off this time, but the thought vanishes when Lorenzo's pensive gaze scans over them, the hint of a pompous scoff rising from his features before he goes back to browsing.

Neither Nick nor Smith like the weasel very much, but it echoes a sad thought for Smith. An understanding of the enigma of the fox before him. He fixes him a stern gaze, and Nick matches it, taking him seriously. "John, what you got is company that needs nuthin' but yer talent, and acquaintances you never have time fer. They encourage the masks you wear, and the person ya hide underneath. Now… I don't rightly know who ya really are but… if you ever meet someone who lets you be you, without fear, without malice… you never let 'em go, understand?"

Nick chuckles, shaking his head at the oryx with a sense of relief. "Almost sound like you're making me find a woman."

But to Smith it's no joke.

" _If it_ is _a woman, then you take her home, love her till it hurts, and then… love her some more."_

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

Nick wakes up and all he can gather is that it's still late, where the world is a mixture of random noises and a flurry of misplaced images as he blinks his drowsy eyes awake. But as he blinks, the images still blur and he can't grasp a sense of where he is or what he's doing. Placing a hand over his face, he draws it down and what he finds is a dampness to his cheeks.

Tears, and they're his. They matt his fur and drench his shirt so he takes it off, and it soils his pillow so he flips it.

He's sitting up now and his head swirls further. He's tired and his keen senses work too hard to let him function. So he falls back again with a hand running through the fur on his head.

He turns to see Judy roll to face him, her eyes fluttering open slowly.

She reaches out to him, and his hand rises to meet hers, slipping passed and cupping a cheek.

When she's awake enough to telegraph her thoughts he finds that her eyes share an intensity like his own.

_She is as afraid as he is._

So he pulls her in, lets her eyes squeeze shut against his chest, letting him kiss her on the head before his eyes vanish beneath his lids.

His head shifts from her scalp to her forehead, letting their noses touch briefly as his eyes, half-lidded and almost shut again, meets hers.

"Nick?" comes her strained whisper.

He takes a moment to respond, searching for something in her eyes as his hand journeys to her lower back, arching her into him. "I want you to be the first thing I see in the morning," he responds just as quietly before her eyes finally shut.

For a second there is a fear that he will lose her, that come some stray derelict morning and she'll vanish, out of his grasp and whisked away by Carrion or something just as dark.

So he cradles all of her, and hopes she's real, beyond a dream and an erstwhile wish. Hopes she loves him enough to stick around and never leave. That moments like these will fill his every night, and his every day. That she is tangible and within reach. That she is his, and him hers.

Without any strength to move and much less to speak, he finds himself drifting as her body relaxes against him, causing his tense muscles to loosen, breathing in the scent of her as the world vanishes beneath all that she is.

_I don't think there's a woman like that out there for me, Smith. I don't think I'm the kind of man who deserves it._

_John, when the time comes, you'll know that it isn't about whether or not you deserve each other. Fate doesn't decide, you do. And it won't be hard to figure it out either. She'll stand out to ya', I know it. Cause she'll make everythin' easier, she'll make life worth livin'._

_And every mornin' worth wakin' up to._

* * *

Ross wakes up to the scent of coffee off his bedside table and freshly cooked eggs wafting in the air from downstairs.

He thinks he's dreaming, but the world feels so tangible, with no sense of anything fleeting.

Taking the mug in hand, he rises from slumber, taking a quick sip that urges his senses awake.

The sun leaks through the blinds which he shuts away, fighting off the morning as his bones ache stiffly beneath his skin.

And as his eyes journey over the darkness of the room, so incredibly aware of how alone he is, a sense of something washes over him as he wonders what's going on in his kitchen.

And yet he feels no urgency, no fear, but dread still. Dread of something that takes him and carries his body down the stairs.

He stretches as his tired feet fall audibly against the hardwood steps, echoing into the empty spaces. Ghosts of better times, kinder memories, hanging dead in the air as every corner, every decoration, every potted plant and picture frame, carries a host of moments from another life.

And as he meets the ground floor, his eyes drift eastward, toward a door left ajar that leads into his garden. Such a place is also built out of his memories, whispers of the man he once was, now only ash tracked through the doorway and sinking into his living room.

But then his eyes lock forward, dragging them into the kitchen where the smell of fresh eggs still flit over his senses, and filling the room with things he dares not remember.

She is there, awake earlier than him as always, and he takes his seat at the counter, staring at her as she seems to glow against the morning sun. But he is not captivated, finding only pain reaching into his chest as his vision draws hard lines around her, trying to burn her silhouette into his mind.

"Hungry?" Eli asks, setting the eggs on a plate.

She slides them before him, and he looks up at her for only a moment before turning back to his plate. "Why are you here?" he asks as he reaches into an adjacent breadbox filled with utensils.

"Your wife can't cook for you?"

"No, I…"

She pouts at him and he can't help but chuckle a little at her, thinking himself silly for even asking. It's then that his lips find the curve of a smile for a moment too long. He almost delights in it, but he quickly drains it when she looks surprised at him, and he buries himself in his plate before taking another sip of his still hot coffee.

Her eyes scan over him, cautious and unsure as she slowly approaches his side of the counter. She tries to reach for him but he pulls away, the onset fear of touching her and realizing that she isn't real sets off alarms in his head. And when he reels he appears disheveled and unkempt, the morning charm lost as the fear in his eyes reshapes his image, making him a mess of a man.

He is unsteady, a terrible wreck, and she dares to comfort him but he's having none of it. He returns to his plate, the meal she'd made for him, and he only seems more distant.

"Don't you miss me, Ross?" she asks suddenly.

He stops midway from eating, the fork still halfway through the egg white, and he drops it onto the plate, cradling his forehead in his hand. "I do, but…"

She sits on the counter itself, looking down at him as he makes attempts not to look at her… but then fails miserably as he follows the gentle curves of her hips upwards from her body, toward the smooth crevice of her neck, where he then meets her gaze, gentle and concerned as she urges him to go on with her eyes alone.

"I… I don't know what'll happen when I let go… when I stop fighting." He shifts in place, rolling his hands together, searching for some comfort that he'll never find. "El, I don't know what I'll lose if I just give in."

She leans down at him, letting him feel her whisper, ethereal yet tangible, letting it sink into his ear and buried into his heart. _"And what would you gain if you do?"_

"Everything I lost… everything that mattered." His conviction rings off his voice, a strangled cry laced with a determination fierce enough to challenge the world. "I'd find you again, and I'll tear through heaven and hell just to keep that promise."

She is visibly swelled with pride, looking down at him with a half-lidded gaze that he remembers all too well. Mirrored by a honeymoon and the first steamy moments before heated passion. It is the eyes of a woman who will always be his, who promises him the world if he'll give her the same. Who would have given her life if it meant he was safe.

Who would sunder a town and all her friends just to find the bastard that hurt the one she loved. Because if she was in his place, she would have done the same.

And suddenly that fire in his heart burns into her eyes, mesmerizing and captivating, luring him into her as she tilts her lips to meet his...

But his lips find nothing, quickly opening his eyes to find that she has vanished.

He turns to his meal but there is no plate and no eggs, only the utensils.

He reaches for his coffee but the mug is not there.

He is alone in the room, staring into the morning sun that peeks through the blinds, longing for that which was stolen from him just a week ago. How clear those memories seem to be, and how displaced the hell he lives in feels now.

Ross sobs quietly into the counter, _feeling her touch smooth over his back,_ and he tries not to look at her, no longer daring to surrender to his delusions.


	15. Those Left Behind (pt. 3)

Some might say that comfort at the bottom of a bottle is misguided and even treacherous, but An takes swigs of whiskey with a sense of control, only letting herself go enough to see the world as fleeting without entirely ejecting herself from reality. And with that comes a balance of clarity and listlessness, where she is grounded yet airy, pained yet ignorant. And without counting her moments with Kayla or Calvary, it is the best feeling in the world.

And where else would she share this feeling and that which she struggles to cast out than in the town's liveliest bar: the Rogue Gallery.

It was once Calvary's favorite haunt — there's even a drink to his name here — and it remembers the mayor fondly, who he came to be afterwards from rather troubled beginnings. And as such, she knows very well that the quality of their liquor will be up to snuff if he kept coming back to it.

And in this dreadful morning of dark things to come, she raises a glass to the sun that peeks through a window that shoots down from the upper floor. "Good to see you too, you cheeky bastard."

Her chortle to the sun is joined by one of the three bartenders, a lemur in a fine suit. "Sure you're not drunk, An?"

"I wish I was. Don't have nearly enough liquor for that." She rolls the bottle in her hand, trying to angle the fur on her face to block out the sunrays. "By the way, would you mind boarding up that damn window?"

"I would but not only can I not reach it, it did always remind Calvary that he should be heading home at this hour. And I think you should too."

"Dan, you're not getting sick of my company, are you?" Her tone would have been flirtatious had she not lurched into her seat, causing her words to come out groggy and almost pleading. She could speak with coherence but she lets herself go, lets herself drift in the mirth of drink, and lets her senses dull just enough to forget her own voice.

"An, while I always enjoy your company, as your friend it would be unkind of me to ask you to stay. You clearly need your rest."

"Listen to the man, An," comes the stern voice of Terence Kaenid, "you've been here all night."

Her look turns baleful as she eyes the wolf with indifference as he stands behind her before her eyes find her whiskey again, her fingers dancing at its moist neck. "Misery doesn't sleep, Terry." With another downing of the bottle, she expects a speech to come from the weary wolf but none comes.

Though she never garners enough curiosity to turn back, his minutes of silence soon end when he takes a seat next to her.

"Scotch on the rocks, Dan," he says, a solemn look to him that is pressed against his knuckle.

"On the rocks?" the lemur asks him quizzically.

"I'll take that devil's tongue but I won't indulge. Got work to do."

When the bartender makes to find his drink, An spares only a momentary glance at Terence. "You're sticking around then?" she asks without a hint of anything in her tone.

"Misery loves company, doesn't it?" he replies easily, catching the scotch as it slides into his hand.

"I don't need your company," she scoffs, eyes drifting away from Terence but returns when the sunlight beams into her groggy eyes.

"I'm doing this for me, not you. You're not the only one who's been having a rough time."

Scotch then fills Terence's throat, eyes drifting shut from the sensations it buries beneath his skin. The kick, the memories, accessories to his days in the Iced Club back in Zootopia. Days reckless and promiscuous, a different him that felt no pain, only mirth and the touch of women. But as his eyes open and the glass clangs with the counter, he returns to today, where everything that he is and all that he enjoys is the exact opposite of his past life. And where the scotch would have settled nicely into his stomach is instead the sour sensation of alcohol in the morning, a combination that gives him enough of a headache to remember that he is no longer that man.

He shakes his head irritably, chasing away the effects immediately as he motions for some water.

"You got soft, Terry," An comments, laughing at the scowl on his face.

"I've just changed, Annie." He turns to Dan again after he downs the glass of water. "Some coffee, if you would. Any kind is fine."

Dan glances between him and the glass. "I'm sorry, was it… not very good?" He is almost certain that pouring a bottle and putting in ice has very large margins for error.

"No, no, it was fine. It's just… I don't think I'm ready to get back into alcohol again. Not after… well this whole week is throwing me off, really."

"I hear ya but… I'm really more of a liquor man, so I'm not very good with that. That's Percy's job."

"That's half the reason I'm asking." Terence hides his expression behind his glass of water, and when he puts it down, Percy is already swiftly across the counter, readying a mug whilst Dan is on the other end with his wife Emma as he tends to another customer.

The sound of brewing coffee crackling in the mix is enough to relax him. And not long after will it fill his lungs in that delicious medley of sensations, chasing away the morning pains. He can already feel his aching bones settle nicely into his skin. It's certainly been a while since he's had coffee from here.

"Been too busy for us, haven't ya, big guy?" Percy asks as he sits with his back toward the wolves.

"He's been busy," An answers for him, "if you haven't heard, he's been making big waves in the station since the forensics equipment arrived. They even have him aiding the ZPD." An talks him up and it only earns her a raised brow from the wolf.

But she is effectively satisfied when the lemur glances between the two in genuine surprise.

An thinks she's been successful until his look becomes rather playful. "Well, well, Terence, holding out on me, huh? Any cute guys?"

"None that are your type, Pers."

He sighs before walking off. "What a shame…"

Terence looks at An who doesn't even bother returning to her bottle, only meeting his gaze with an easy yet neutral stare.

"What was that about?" he asks.

"Just wanted to see if anything interesting would happen." She hides behind another swig of whiskey, sparing only a glance at him the minute she thinks he isn't looking.

"You'll not get much out of me, Annie." He intends to sound challenging but his voice wanes and the strength in his voice is gone, making him sound stale instead.

When he realizes that An is catching on, he tries to laugh it off, as forced a laugh as he could muster. And she surprises herself by doing the same.

There is an inkling of something in his eyes, a mask that he's hiding behind. But it's unnecessary, she already sees right through it, but An sees that the mask he wears is never for her.

The patrons in adjacent seats and even the bartenders rotating the half-oblong counter in the center of the bar are constantly within earshot. Terence is uncomfortable here, comfort found only in his coffee that can only last so long on his tongue.

She wonders if he's here for her, and that saddens her. Her fingers wrap against her bottle, claws tapping at the cooled glass surface as she watches her obscure reflection ponderously. "You can go, you know? I'll be fine," she says.

"You're not the only one in pain, An." He says it so plainly that she doesn't know what to make of it.

She wants to sound annoyed but her voice is strained like his, struggling to sound anything but empty. "Did you come here just to tell me that?"

He makes an affirmative "Hm…" before trailing off for a moment. "Maybe."

The silence drags on and An's eyes wander the walls of the bar where a myriad of photos and paintings are hung.

In a town with as little crime as it does, the most notorious folk in town have actually only ever been the drunks, and the Rogue Gallery earns its name by placing their best customers over the years on the walls. It even includes the likes of Raeger Hector, and most of the Fyfly band that, ironically, doesn't include Suther Hicks.

She then locks onto a particular photo of the town's most famous drunk, Calvary Pride, in a sleeveless shirt that shows off just how disproportionate his body is. The toned muscles do not have much weight and they contrast quite strangely with his mane. He looks anything but the king of a pride, just a man with a drinking problem.

He looks so generic when compared to the rest of the photos, and even to the rest of the room.

Things were so different when Kayla arrived. One little otter girl too bright and too kind for a town gone mad. An likes to think that Kayla never knew she would help change the town for the better, her every gesture and every smile sending ripples through the town, purifying the curse.

But she knows it isn't true. Because Kayla was painfully aware of her effects on the town, and worked tirelessly to maintain that façade, tiring her to the point of constant exhaustion.

So as she scans the room and sees far too many people drinking till they pass out at way too early in the morning, she realizes that their grip on the town's stability is loose at best without Kayla. She was the light of the town, glowing, iridescent, divine and incorruptible and a million other things this town never deserved. And now she's gone.

_How were we ever supposed to keep up with that?_

It's a question she doesn't dare hope to find an answer for, but as she turns to Terence, ever present at her side, she decides that perhaps she could find some semblance of closure in at least talking about it.

But the words she tries to form come too late when he speaks. "I heard you had some info on the Lucianos. What do you got?"

She sighs. "You know about Andrei Callahan?"

"Yeah, he's a red-eye-white rabbit capo for that family. What about him?"

"Apparently that whole fiasco with Illia managed to involve someone high up in their relations and since Nick and Judy managed to fix that particular problem for them, Andrei decided to offer them their services as thanks."

"Did they accept?"

"Only after they heard it wasn't going to be anything illegal. Who knows, they might end up being useful."

Terence doesn't like the idea of their involvement no matter how genuine they can sound, but he realizes that trusting Creed and his connections — that certainly still exist — is a little hypocritical of him. Still, he can't help but feel curious. "A little suspicious, don't you think?"

She rolls the bottle in hand again, finally out of whiskey and she can already feel herself sobering up. "I wouldn't know. I don't keep up with the crime families."

"Me neither but it might be worth looking into."

"Don't bother, hotshot," Sam says suddenly from behind them. She leans against the counter and faces the two. "As far as this case is concerned, they're clean."

An isn't about to let herself be so easily convinced. "How can you know that for sure?"

"We looked into them during the first set of kidnappings. All we managed to find out was that they were actually trying to feed us info through one of our former suspects: Kurt Bellows. Their own boys get mixed up in this and they wanted revenge."

"What about now?" Terence asks, mirroring An's look.

"No Luciano in the right mind would mess with a Mellivora. Otherwise, the man in charge of her, Andrei Callahan, would be dead."

It's clear to them at this point. Lucianos are quite violent and very protective of their associates. Since the Mellivoras are so important to the crime family, anyone involved in hurting Illia Mellivora as harshly as she had been would not have survived their sudden visit to the town. And Andrei Callahan, who is supposed to be protecting their associates would certainly have been punished had Nick and Judy not sorted out that mess already.

Terence then takes notice that Sam isn't ordering anything. "So what are you doing here anyway, Sam?"

"You, actually. I heard you wanted in on the ZPD and I thought we'd drag you into our morning routine if you're interested."

An almost makes a suggestive comment but her train of thought ends with her wondering how Sam even got here. "Wait, how'd you find him anyhow?"

"Gizelle, the reporter girl, is somehow incredibly well informed. I wouldn't have bothered looking had I not run into her." She then ponders for a moment. "Actually, it's surprising just how much she knew. We might even keep her as an informant for the town."

An chuckles to herself, because she knows Gizelle only knows so much because she's been paying careful attention to the handsome wolf. And then that idea saddens her.

"I'd advise against that," Terence comments. "She's meek and couldn't handle that kind of serious pressure."

An, on the sidelines of their continuing conversation, feels herself slipping back into sobriety as the bottle in her hand turns dry in her heated palms. She then slides it away, and signals for Dan to get her a new one.

He does so readily, and spares a glance at the bengal tiger present.

Then Sam and Terence get off the counter. "We'll be heading out, An," he tells her, "I'll see you tonight, alright?"

"I won't be home. I'm amping up security down at City Hall so meet me there."

They bid their goodbyes and suddenly An feels more alone than when she arrived.

"She's a little old for him, isn't she?" Dan comments suddenly.

"They're working, Dan, nothing more. Besides, Terence doesn't have time for stuff like that. Trust me."

When the lemur slips away, An takes another swig of whiskey, feels its kick knock her back just a bit before she lets herself writhe in its sensations. Then she takes another, downing enough of it quickly enough to nearly choke. Then the world starts spinning but her knuckle pressed against the counter reminds her of the control she's supposed to have.

And soon she feels a sense of sobriety lace into grogginess, and it is not long until she finds enough balance to stop spinning, which she realizes she's been doing.

But then a familiar figure sits a seat away from her, and she almost thinks she probably drank too much. And yet the image before her is crystal clear, nearly causing her to lurch.

Emma walks over to her and is about to ask what's wrong until the easy voice of Rostetler Rundi catches her attention. "Morning, Emma. Could you and Daniel prepare the usual? I'd like to get this morning started as soon as it can."

"Sure thing, Ross. We'll just need to cook it up in the back. Sorry, the lady at the end of the room ordered your breakfast exactly."

"At least neither of us gets it cold. I can spare some time to wait."

"Thanks, Ross. Um… If you don't mind me asking though, you're a lot later than usual. We almost thought you wouldn't come in today. What happened to you earlier?"

He smiles sadly, sitting up so he still appears stoic as he shrugs. "Bit of a haunting. The mornings get a little lonelier everyday so this might be a recurring issue."

"Oh, I'm—" He raises a hand to silence her.

"Don't apologize. I'll deal with things as they come. Don't you worry about me, I'll get it sorted out eventually."

"Still, the Gallery is always here if you need us."

One smile from him is enough to send Emma confidently on her way, leaving An and the resident madman alone.

"Trying to garner sympathy?" she comments audibly. "Between you accusing an innocent fox for an impossible scenario and that upstart coup, I thought you were just a crazed asshole. Turns out you're a pathetic low-life too."

He barely even glances at her, the glass of water before him being much more appealing a sight. "At least I'm not the one stuck in the past," he responds scornfully with a leveled tone.

Rage, familiar and tangible, seeps into her skin as her fur stands on edge, trembling in the morning sun. She is poisoned by the sensation, and nearly allows herself to attack him, but she maintains control. And yet, her voice is not as well behaved. "You don't know me!"

He chuckles to himself, "I don't but… I know _grief._ " He spots Eli sitting at the end of the room, smiling at him from a distance with her favorite brandy rolling in her delicate fingers. "In fact, as of late, we've become… quite intimate." _With a sad smile, Eli raises a glass to him._

_And he almost does the same._

A pained smile cuts into his cheeks, and it nearly destroys him inside. But then An turns to face him, sees that weakness in his eyes, and suddenly his smile turns sinister.

The glass is freezing in his grasp, cold like the façade he laces over his anguish. It is a contrast to the inferno billowing in his chest, creeping into his skin as the proud woman beside him remains shocked and silent at him for knowing all the things he does. "You know, I heard that Calvary still believes that Kayla is still alive. And rumor has it that the ZPD knows too. But they don't say anything because all their efforts are focused on catching Carrion. But you? You're head of security, it's supposed to be your _job_ to take care of him. And yet there you are, feeding his delusions."

She wants to erupt but can't. Not in a place like this. But her insides churn uncomfortably as the bloodcurdling scream quivering at the edge of her lips is lost between her grit teeth.

Then Ross continues, furthering her anger. "I'd almost say you pitied him but… maybe you're clinging to the same futile hopes?"

She lets go of the bottle and bares her claws in one hand. One good strike will shut him up, one good strike will satisfy her pains.

But to think that violence will silence the voices in her head, the whispers of a little girl she can never have again, of a life lost to time which will never be again.

Emma then quickly emerges from a flap door in the wall that leads into the kitchen. She quickly drops off Ross's breakfast in a box before rushing over to an expectant customer.

The puma stands, breakfast in hand, looking down at An long enough for her to meet his gaze.

She expects a snarky confidence in his features but instead finds a stern look to him that tells her it's all business. "You and Calvary can wallow in the past all you like. I'll stay here in the present and make sure this never happens to anyone else _ever again_."

She never musters the courage to speak, and Ross is already out the door.

An buries her head in her hands, crying into the counter. And when Emma lays a hand on her shoulder, An, for a brief terrifying moment, mistakes it for Kayla's.

* * *

There is a dead silence lingering in the darkened room when Nick wakes up, eyes still shut tight as the morning barely breaches the heavy blinds. Golden lights trim the edges of the windows but beyond that, the room is mostly still dark, only faintly lit. So to Nick the room is like the vast expanse of space, and in its center is Judy, dim lights dancing against the tips of her fur like stars, breathing quietly into his chest as his curled body cradles her completely with his tail that arcs into her back.

In his arms she is so incredibly small, a frail little thing clinging to him for warmth like a kit. And yet she is anything but, as the strength in her muscles roll beneath her steady breaths, gripping firmly into the rumpled fur of his chest.

When her eyes slowly open, the bright plume of her lavender irises erupts like galaxies in the misty backdrop. And in this celestial canvas, he is witness to her, captivated by the sight, drawing him in as he inches his face closer.

Half-lidded eyes regard hers as he slowly trails his sights up and down her lithe form before stopping to meet her tired gaze. "Has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful eyes?"

"Nick, that was so cliché it hurt." She groans as she rolls into her side, letting her back face him. "If it kills me in my sleep, I'm haunting you for life." She then takes this opportunity to fully cuddle with his tail, her legs even wrapping around it, as all she hears in response is a quiet chuckle.

She can't see in the dark like he does so all she sees is the glow of his green eyes, the only thing in a sea of darkness, piercing the shade, watching her intently. His eyes are dangerous, terrifying even, and yet she delights in it. Because those eyes belong to her specie's natural predator, her biological enemy, and all he ever wants to do is protect her and guard her against the world.

They are as beautiful as they are dangerous, and there is far more comfort in that idea than she is ever willing to admit.

With a relaxed sigh coming off of her, he decides to slip his arms around her. His right hand curls around his own tail, and thus around her arms too. His left sinks to her waist to pull her back into him.

And for minutes they sit there in comfortable silence. But then she reaches for her phone, peeking out of his grasp and he notices her shuffling. For a moment he briefly grabs one of her breasts and she swats his hand blithely. "Getting a little cheeky there, Slick."

"Couldn't help it." She can practically feel his grin on her back. "My pillow was trying to escape."

Blinking over the invasive brightness of her phone, Judy attempts to make sense of the words coming into form. A frustrating minute passes before they finally become coherent. "Looks like we'll have to get going, Nick. They're expecting us downstairs." She stifles a yawn.

Slipping from his grasp, Nick, with his eyes shut, finds that the lack of warmth feels incredibly emptying.

Alone in bed, Nick feels that void creep from the shadows, engulfing his sights as his eyes adjust to his night vision. But even as the darkness is pushed back, the dark room bares few lights and he discovers that Judy is no longer in sight.

" _Ease up, buddy, it's alright,"_ he hears Smith say, shooting his tired eyes wide open.

Somewhere in the back of his addled mind, his old friend is somehow made manifest in that brief, terrifying moment. Surely a sign of madness and yet… comforting.

With some hidden resolve, Nick leaves the bed to get dressed. In his bag he finds an old white dress shirt with black slacks that he swears was cleaner looking when he packed it. And with a pleased smile, he slips on a red tie, snug around his neck, a familiar feeling like reuniting with an old friend.

Judy then emerges from the bathroom, wrapping her shawl around her neck as her pensive little gaze is fixed firmly on the garment. And with a brush, she utters "Nick, about last night…" But as her eyes finally find him, she is at a loss for words as a familiar, genuine smile trails along his lips.

_He hasn't smiled like that in days._

"Nick?" she asks, slowly approaching the fox. She could be wrong but there is still a chance that it might be a front for something.

He sits cross-legged across from her, shrugging at her. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'm alright."

She kneels in front of him, taking one of his hands in hers. "Forgive me if I'm having trouble believing that. Nick, you know I'm here if you need me. You don't have to hide anything from me."

With his free hand, he reaches out for her, trailing it down her ear as she lets it lay flat behind her. And the smile still stays as she looks for the cracks in it. But his voice is solemn and true, carrying itself easily with his quiet charm. "I think I've spent enough time moping," he says as he briefly looks away. "This is me trying to deal with it. The mourning can wait. So let me fill the gaps with what I can."

With a surrendering sigh, she falls into his chest, curling into him as she fights every ounce of her being to not press the issue. And yet the words slip out anyway. "Please don't hide from me…"

"I can't do the impossible, Carrots. You see right through me."

She softly jabs him in the shoulder. "And don't you forget it."

A knock on the door prompts them onward, opening it to find a peppy Francine to greet them. "Hey, guys, we gotta get going. The Chief is making us do the morning rounds and… what's with the smug face, Nick?"

"Par for the course, France, this is _our_ case so we're just going to watch." Nick slips by her, Judy following soon after.

Judy sidles up beside the elephant, catching her attention as she gives her an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, Francine, but he's right. We're met to focus on the case. In fact, all he wants us to do is give everyone a full briefing but we're supposed to be meeting Terence, the forensics guy, down at the station so I don't think we can even do _that_."

Francine taps a contemplative finger over her cheek. "Killing two birds with one stone then, cause I think I overheard that tiger, Sam, say she was bringing him over for the exercises."

Clawhauser, who has been slowly catching up to them, slips next to Francine with a frantic look about him. "Do you guys know why Bogo has us doing morning exercises?" he asks, the hint of some concern in his voice.

"I don't know, Spots, it should be obvious," Nick offers nonchalantly, rolling his shoulders out of morning.

Francine considers it for a moment before shaking her head. "Granted, it's a little unorthodox since we don't have a proper space set out for it, but the Chief just wants us limbered up for work today."

"He doesn't normally do this, though," Ben replies, still pondering something. "Ooh! Maybe it's cause Sam is gonna be joining us!" His excitable tone only concerns Francine.

It is only furthered when Nick chuckles. "Then you two better hope she isn't acting MP."

Once outside, they find the hotel's tennis court which is situated along the backside of the building above the pool. It is as wide an open space as they can find without actually being in the parking lot.

The ZPD are lounging about along its bleachers whilst Bogo waits by the door for the rest of them to arrive.

On the opposite set of bleachers they find Terence casually juggling a pair of tennis balls to keep himself busy. They slip into the seats beside him, greeting him then.

"Weren't you supposed to be with Sam?" Judy asks.

"She left me here so she can wake Fengmeyer who slept in your fancy APC." His eyes then lock onto the doorway where they entered, prompting the pair to follow his glance. Sam enters with a wolf behind her, which perplexes him. "I thought the Fengmeyers were tigers."

"They are," Judy answers, watching the sun peek over the hotel. "That one's just adopted."

Terence notes the rather excitable look of the wolf as he pants happily about until he tackles what is likely his tiger brother. He's ashamed to admit to himself that the wolf and his mindless joy seems a little... childish. "Uh… does _he_ know that?"

"Oh don't worry, he knows; he's just like that with his brother," she assures as said wolf enters an ecstatic and perhaps one-sided conversation with his kin.

"He has inhaled more than a reasonable amount of gasoline though," Lupin chimes in out of nowhere, seating himself besides the rest of them, "so you'd forgiven for thinking he doesn't have all his faculties."

Terence gives the other wolf a perplexed look, inwardly embarrassed at not noticing him approach. He nearly jumped from his seat when he heard him speak.

Lupin, from his relaxed position, opens an eye at Terence, extending his hand. "Lupin St. Claire."

Terence hesitates, prompting Lupin's hand to fall. "Sinclair? Like the—"

"No, no, no, **Saint** Claire. I'm from Claudia St. Claire's Orphanage and it's customary to make their kids' surnames match the place. I spare no relation to the crime families."

The name suddenly turns a cog in Terence's mind, an old memory he would have remembered fondly had it ended better. "I was sweet on a girl there once but… she got adopted."

The topic delights Lupin, his tail wagging as he sits up to regard the wolf properly. "Speaking of women, I hear you and that little miss, Gizelle, are… acquainted?"

"You suggesting something?" Nick remarks, much to Judy's surprise. He doesn't normally chime into things like this. He isn't normally interested unless he has a quip to it. But then she realizes he's only equally curious as the rest of them for asking.

"Just that I'm wondering if they're dating or not." Lupin looks to Terence with a glint of concern in his slightly sharpened gaze. "So are you two intimate?"

Terence nearly shies away, a little bothered at the forward attitude. "We're nothing like that. Why do you ask?"

Lupin sighs, causing Nick and Judy to spare a glance at each other, whilst Terence only worries further. "Well you better go tell _her_ that. Cause I saw her on the way up and the thing seems positively smitten by you." He crosses his arms.

"What? How? We hardly even see each other, let alone talk." Terence's shock is evident, rather vivid, instigating Nick to laugh at his expense whilst Judy stifles a giggle herself. Lupin doesn't share in the mirth, having been in the same place as the young gazelle, once upon a time, and can only imagine the heartbreak if Terence doesn't reciprocate. And it's clear with the look on his face that the man is not interested in the meek little reporter.

Judy taps a contemplative finger to her chin. "You _did_ take her out on a date not too long ago."

"That wasn't a date! I just showed her the best places to hide in case those idiots chased her around again."

"Didn't you two have dinner?" Nick adds, embarrassing the wolf further.

Lupin raises a brow at him. "So you took her around town whilst White-Knighting her? Buddy, that's a lot of mixed messages you're sending a girl with little to no experience."

Terence groans, finding more than just embarrassment lacing into his little scowl. "I have to go talk to her."

"Here's your chance." Lupin points to the door as Gizelle gingerly walks in, wincing at the squeal Clawhauser gives her when he approaches like a fan boy. Lupin's heart breaks for hers.

Gizelle, opens her eyes to find that Clawhauser hasn't fawned over her, only politely waiting at an arm's length distance between them. He quickly introduces himself and compliments her appearance, much to her surprise, and then asks if she's related to Gazelle in any way. When he hears that she is her cousin, he then further remarks her beauty, causing the petite thing to blush.

She then asks him where to find someone she's looking for. It is at this point that Judy notices that Ben doesn't direct Gizelle to Terence, but to herself.

The girl meanders across the court, keeping her eye in Judy's direction before looking embarrassed at the floor, wondering if it looked like she was staring. But then as her eyes wander upward again, she quickly finds the expectant look of Terence standing before her.

"Oh, hi, Terence!" She instantly fumbles, giggling to herself as she toys with her hair. "Oh! Or-or do you prefer Kaenid? Um… I'm so sorry, I—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. Either is fine." He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "What's up with you though? You're acting like this is the first time we've met and even then you were a lot less flustered."

She looks away, sparing a meager glance at Judy before dropping her gaze. She's nervous, it's clear to everyone that she is, but it isn't about being in front of the guy she likes. "I'm… well I'm kind of having an existential crisis right now. Sorry, I just get really neurotic sometimes. I actually came here to talk to Judy."

"Oh? Oh! Yeah, we-we can talk later, yeah." It is the first time she'd seen Terence fumble with his words, the confidence she was akin to lost in the blush trailing his features. And she would have spared a moment to analyze it were she not preoccupied.

He awkwardly ushers her to Judy who swiftly takes her away to the furthest bleachers. Judy doesn't even regard him as her eyes draw hard over the shy girl.

Now at a distance, Terence sighs. It would have been mistaken for relief had he not buried his fingers into his scalp in frustration.

"Smooth, Casanova," Nick comments, patting him on the shoulder.

He groans once more. "I can't help it… It's been four years since I've dated someone, and even then I've never had to deal with someone who's into me like _this._ "

Nick would have offered advice had he not noticed the glint in Lupin's eye. It's then that he remembers that he was involved in something similar before. "Didn't _you,_ Lupin?"

"Other way around, Nick," he replies with as neutral a tone as he can manage.

"Oh," Terence remarks as his eyes look apologetic and pitying. "I'm so sorry."

Lupin only shrugs. "Eh, I'll get over it."

A sharp laugh from Judy's direction causes the entire area to look at Gizelle as she covers her mouth and hides behind the much smaller bunny, prompting said bunny to laugh awkwardly and try to wave everyone off.

"Heh," Terence intones. "In the very least, she's very good at keeping her calm."

Lupin shoots Nick a smuggest grin that makes the fox incredibly weary. "She's a spectacular woman, isn't she, Wilde?"

With a wave of his brows, Nick looks away, not wanting to breach the topic. "Don't we have more pressing matters to attend to?" He fixes his gaze to Terence, wanting to shift the focus on him instead.

The smirk on Terence's face told Nick to accept defeat. "No way, Nick, I'm just as curious."

Lupin rests an arm on Terence's shoulder, both of them clearly ganging up on the unwilling fox. Nick feels cornered, but being a coward and running away would only make things embarrassing.

"So," Lupin begins, much to Nick's chagrin, "I heard you two share a room with a single bed. And I take it no one takes the couch?"

 _That's an easy one._ "Bed's big enough for two." Nick shrugs it off.

Lupin would have hit a wall had Terence not laughed at the petty excuse. He shakes his head, the smile reminds Nick that the man is a local. "I've lived here long enough to know that that bed is large enough for both of your respective twins and their doppelgangers. That's more than enough room to be apart and yet you _smell_ like her. You sure you don't have a thing?"

An exasperated sigh escapes his lips, rubbing the bridge of his snout irritably. Of course he'd get caught that way. No chance he could ever get away from those damnable snouts of theirs. "Why does everyone always have to assume something's going on between me and Judy?"

Terence's skeptical look is really starting to get on his nerves. "I guess it would help your case if you two didn't flirt all the damn time."

"Oh, they _flirt_ now?" Terence can tell that Lupin is actually genuinely surprised. It only leaves him to assume that Lupin has come to the same conclusions beyond even just the flirting. And with that they stare down Nick who is clearly not winning this conversation.

When the silence draws on a little too long, Lupin makes to sigh as his features soften. He stares down the fox who is clearly beyond unwilling at this point. "C'mon, Nick, it's the twenty-first century! Interspecies shit hasn't been taboo since the 70s."

"That… isn't why."

"Alright," he begins calmly, approaching the topic as carefully as he can, "then tell me: why aren't you and Hopps a thing?"

And with another hefty sigh, he looks between the two of them. "You two ever been in love?"

"Plenty." It rolls off of Lupin's tongue like it was normal.

Terence ponders for a second. "About three solid times."

"You know what it feels like to be hopelessly in love? To want someone so much that you can't help but dedicate yourself to her as if she were the only thing in your universe?" The poised question stuns them for a moment, because it almost feels out of place with having to associate those things with Nick.

"Of course I have," Lupin replies.

"Every single time," Terence adds thoughtfully.

"Well, I've never felt that," was his shocking response, causing their brows to furrow skeptically. "Well, at least not this true love everyone keeps talking about."

"You're shitting me, right?" Lupin's incredulous glare makes Nick chortle. He should have known that it would sound silly and perhaps even impossible to anyone else.

"Wish I was. But me and love aren't very well acquainted. In fact, I'm not even sure we've met." Nick tries to laugh it off but it's a sad truth he'd bared with him ever since Smith brought it up all those years ago. It's on him like a commemorative badge, adorned on him on special occasions but tossed off unceremoniously the minute he's out of sight of anyone who even cared.

"So how do you know you aren't actually in love with her already?" It comes out of Terence's mouth with the same child-like sympathy which is somehow mirrored with Lupin's perfectly.

"Maybe I am… who knows. I certainly don't and, from what I can tell, neither can she."

They certainly can't argue that. The relationship is two way anyway and yet… they can tell that Nick, even in the back of his mind, in the very least is curious about what a relationship with Judy would be like.

"And what is love, even?" Nick continues. "Is it a feeling? Fate, a cosmic cog in the universe? Or is it what you make of it? If it's either of the former, then nothing between us has really clicked the way everyone says it should for love to happen. And if it's the latter? Well, then I'm sorry to say that neither of us have really made any real effort into making what we have any more than it is."

Terence doesn't press the issue, finding the wanderlust creeping into Nick's distant gaze is every indication that it's a line of questioning that they'll get nothing out of.

"You're really nothing like the rest of us, aren't you, Nick?" Lupin asks, finally seating himself with a quiet chuckle to him.

Nick's friendly scoff is his only response.

"Kaenid!" comes the excitable call from behind Terence, turning to find his friends from the station. Liz and Reese approaching quickly as the excitable otter practically drags the armadillo with her. Behind them, Ilia and Javan simply wave as Creed emerges from behind them with a heavy pant and a face that practically screamed, "I'm too old for this."

"What are you guys doing here?" Kaenid asks the two.

"Pfft!" intoned Liz, "you really think we were gonna stick around for Ross's morning exercises?"

Terence stares at her a little longer than he should have, cause she seems to have forgotten to let go of Reese's hand. He decides to search for something in the armadillo's eyes but all there is behind those amber eyes are the same indifference to the world as he always has.

That is until he suddenly raises a curious brow to the wolf. "Actually, why are _you_ here? Cause you weren't even there for the announcement this morning, so you're not here to avoid something you haven't even heard of."

"We're talking about his love life!" Lupin announces audibly, causing Terence to fluster terribly. But the hue to his cheeks and ears are nothing compared to Gizelle's who has quickly rejoined the rest of them with Judy, now stock-still in the middle of them all, trying her best to hide behind Judy again.

Her adverse reaction makes Lupin feel ashamed, hiding his own embarrassment as he leans downward.

Reese, who has allowed himself to delight in Terence and Gizelle's rich reactions, smirks at the flustered wolf. "Breaking hearts left and right this week, aren't ya' Terence?"

He answers with an incredulous look to him. "What on earth are you going on about?"

"Well at first you and An were—"

"Me and Annie do _not_ have a thing, **damn it!** " They chuckle collectively when he realizes that he's the only one who calls her by that.

Then the groups coalesce, continuing the banter from earlier. And even though Gizelle, and Terence recover from their earlier embarrassment, it doesn't stop them from avoiding each other. Nick thinks it's all quite silly, really, cause it could all be solved if they just sucked it up and talked about it.

He also notes the lingering glance of Lupin over the petite gazelle and wonders if his line of questioning earlier has ulterior motives. And even finds Liz playfully socking Reese in the shoulder, prompting the typically disinterested armadillo to chuckle.

It's then that Nick realizes that he is eldest present, and decides to make use of this knowledge by pinching Judy's cheek, who readily slaps his hand away. She makes a comment about his age after that and they laugh it off.

She delights in his warmth then, leaning into him as everyone before them is lost in conversation here at the bleachers.

Looking down at her, he realizes that he is irreparably entranced by her, laying gentle hands across her arms. She then raises her ears to him, letting one lay across his chest whilst the other falls onto his shoulder as they lean back together. For a moment he becomes painfully conscious about their position, but then shrugs it off, thinking that the rest of the world can jump to conclusions all it wants. He'll just be here, enjoying their time together.

Bogo calls the ZPD together minutes later, with Terence joining their ranks whilst Nick, Judy, and Sam watch from a distance.

The Chief then announces that there aren't actually any morning exercises, only that they were gathered together so they can be reminded to be alert in the morning and, if they seriously need to, will have to find their own time to limber up for the work. He cautions that this is no vacation, and that the situation is dire. And then he ends it with a joke.

All of this infuriates Sam as she gives the cape buffalo a pointed look. Because she dragged Terence here to get acquainted and do some serious cardio, only to find that it was little more than a joke laced with an important message the wolf is likely already very familiar with.

Bogo sees her glare and then quickly announces that, since they're there, they might as well do a few laps around the court. Pleased with herself, Sam walks over to Bogo, striking a conversation about how he handles his job. He certainly won't change the way he does his job just cause she might not agree, but he'll hear her out regardless.

It's something Clawhauser would have delighted in had he not practically collapsed on the third lap around, Francine taking him up to the bleachers.

Judy gives the leopard a pat on the shoulder before sliding down to sit next to him, leaving Nick to his thoughts.

He watches all present, a scrutinizing eye picking out their strength as a cobbled together unit. They'll all make quite the team, but if they fail, all of this camaraderie will turn bitter.

But he tries to delight in it anyway because here, amidst all this mirth and camaraderie, does he certainly feel like he is in another world entirely, away from the town and its pain, where he can tell himself that he didn't just lose an old friend, where he can look at the sun and whine about how it is.

But at the corner of his eye does he catch a glimpse of the world he's in, one he can't escape, the reality barreling into his senses long enough for him to remember.

He spies the station down the road, with their large courtyard in the back filled with a multitude of deputies getting their morning exercises under the instruction of one of the senior deputies who has taken Ross's side. They're a mish-mash of sizes and varying degrees of attention span, quite the mess they appear to be, but they can't knock their numbers.

Sure some of them are still on Creed's side, but it's clear that they're not evenly split, and certainly not in Creed's favor.

Overlooking the courtyard is a watch tower, and on its railings stands a figure that is all too familiar. He can't see his face from this distance clearly but the stride and clearly dark fur tells him it's Ross.

He has it out for Nick just because of past. An aspect to his life that hasn't actually been an issue in the ZPD up until this point. He wonders how much worse things will get if he allows Ross's madness to go on much longer.

There is the idea that if they catch Carrion, it'll all be over. But Judy was right to say that he's fallen into abandon, desperate to find some meaning in his life since his loss. And if the stories about his once-and-never-again friendship with Creed are to be believed, nothing in his life much matters anymore either.

He has surrendered everything just to make this push. And there is no doubt in his mind that catching Carrion won't actually end his tirade.

The man is willing to die. And what frightens Nick is that it's likely not for any gallant reason, having nothing to do with his wife's killer. Nick understands completely what Judy was trying to say back at Catfrani: Ross can't stand to live anymore without his wife, because as he comes to accept that justice will grant him no comfort, he'll do everything he can to justify putting himself out of his own misery.

* * *

Hands firmly on the railing, Ross watches his deputies march along the courtyard in disjointed lines and cadence. Their pacing is anything but uniform but when their size differences range from three inches to seven feet and up, they really can't be blamed.

They should have been broken up into different squads instead of being cobbled together like this, but even the instructors need to learn a thing or two about how formation and training work. Sure some of them are veterans but as terrible luck would have it, all the ones that joined him didn't right know how to form squads.

He on the other hand has always been quite adept at training. But he wanted to see how this would pan out. Soon enough the younger deputies will start complaining and they'll start sorting it out. He won't step in, he can't keep holding their hands.

Well, that's the excuse he'd like to give. He actually couldn't care less. For as long as they worked for him, it would make no difference to him.

With a hefty sigh, he shuts his eyes as a headache causes him to pinch the bridge of his snout.

The wind brushes passed him, curling through his messy fur and sinking into the loose contours of his uniform. And then the badge in his breast pocket feels too light that it practically disappears. The gun in his holster seems to loosen, as if to fall away. And then, as he opens his eyes, he realizes that he is no longer where he was just a second ago.

Beneath him is a vast field with wind sweeping through the grass like waves in the sea. Autumn leaves rise from the forest to the west, a cacophony of burning colors kissing the midafternoon sky as if to reach for the heavens.

In the east he sees a modest home surrounded by fields of wheat, the duller colors of growing produce accent the grass that hugs it, turning the home in its center into an island. Lonely, isolated, cozy.

Then he hears the laughter of children trek the quiet little valley beneath him. Two black puma kits chasing each other through the sea of green that tickles their ankles. Somehow he knows that they are brother and sister.

They wave up at him, shouting "Hi, Dad!" before they scurry along, disappearing into the wheat field.

Shortened breath and panic tightening in his gut, he nearly calls out to them to stay safe, but all he manages to do is open his mouth as he leans into the rusty railing. It's then that he realizes that the railing is no longer squared around the watch tower but rounded.

He turns to find that he is on a grain silo. He touches the metal, expecting to feel the glass of the watch tower instead, but the feel of the silo's rough metal is so real that he shakes his head in disbelief, placing both hands over it just to be certain in a feeble attempt to dispel the illusion in a sense of grounded reality.

"This is what we wanted, isn't it?" he hears the gentle tone of Eli speak, her soft feet barely making a sound as she approaches the railing. She's wearing her mother's sundress with a wide straw hat he remembers that she made for him once upon a time.

With a dazed look, he almost lets himself surrender to the delusion. But then he violently shakes his head, but the vision doesn't disappear. So instead he scowls, gritting his teeth as he joins her on the railing. "Not like this. I didn't want a farm."

She sighs happily, letting the breeze blow through her features as she slowly takes off the hat. She faces him with a gentle smile, slowly placing the hat on his head. "You didn't… but I did." She faces the farmstead, her eyes trailing after their children running through the wheat toward it. "A home on the prairie, away from it all. Our own little world with two kids." Her head then rises to the sun again, breathing in the open air as she giggles to herself. _"Our haven in the south."_

He doesn't look at her, but as his eyes wander, he finds that the world he's in is filled with sights he can't truly bare to watch, a dream so far away, taken from him. "I… don't remember." A lie.

She doesn't comment on it.

Ross wants to surrender himself to the world as the wind, so real that it could swallow him whole and he would be content to live in it forever, even if it means he'd trade all his sanity for it. But the fact that it isn't, the idea that it is all a lie his mind is telling him is enough to distract him, to let him grasp reality. But the real world is cruel. It doesn't have _her._

"It'll never be ours," he whispers gently with the ghost of a sob. "Not anymore."

Again she doesn't respond, and a piece of him is thankful for that. But the rest of him, most of him, all the parts that are screaming, beg for her to speak. And that part wins when he dares to look at her again, to perchance the answers in her eyes, but when he looks, she is gone.

It takes a moment for him to realize that he is back to reality. The silo is gone, the valley is a dull gray courtyard, and the homestead never existed.

With a sense of himself coming back together, he enters the watch tower. The cold steel clanking beneath him is a faint reminder of how different the life he wanted is from the life he has, on a deafly silent watch tower, overlooking a courtyard flooded with marching orders and children too old to not know what to do with their lives.

The inside of the tower is a box made of three rooms where the entrance opens up to the largest rectangular one. This is where all the communications array monitors are held as they glow in the darkened room, casting shadows against the transparent glass of the other two rooms.

The two adjacent rooms hold the rest of the equipment, the kind that would be better off not being tampered with unless it be absolutely necessary. And from there he sees blinking lights, dancing in some disjointed rhythm as he stares into them. He knows the glass is just there to safely check if the room isn't being fiddled with but he'd love to put some blinds there. The lights are giving him a headache in the dull room.

He takes a seat in one of the chairs, facing away from the blinking lights. The deputies won't be up here until their training is done so he'll have the room for himself, aloft in the sustained silence, alone with his thoughts.

The monitor itself doesn't help however, the light hurting his eyes as he blinks away the pain before finally shutting off the monitor, darkening the room further.

Then the door clicks open, Eli walks out of it with two coffees in hand.

He regards her for only a moment, looking away immediately after, staring into the open window as crows pass the town by in the forest beyond.

She sets down his coffee across from him.

"Was it worth it?" she asks placidly, taking a sip from her own mug. _Abandoning your life, your career, and your friends, all for this crazed vendetta?_

"That would connote that everything I'm doing will have some satisfactory pay-off." He tastes the coffee, and it's just as good as the illusion from earlier this morning. He almost doesn't dare sip it again, the pain ravaging his skull only getting worse as his heart urges him to anyway.

The look on her face is pained by his statement, but she quickly shakes it off.

Placing her mug on an adjacent table, she takes the seat across from his, hands clutching tightly on her knees. "I wanted to talk about what you said before."

He watches at her embarrassed expression, and tilts his head at it. It's so strange to him. It's everything he remembers, she is everything like she is supposed to be but… something about it bothers him. But then she looks up at him with an unpleasant scowl, blush still running a furious crimson across her cheeks. She wants him to answer and the silence isn't helping with that.

His own features soften, and the look in his eyes surprises her, but otherwise maintains the blush. "I'm sorry, I… I didn't… want to upset you."

He gets up and walks over to her, kneeling before her as he takes her hands in his own, a quiet resolve to him forged just for her. "Just know that I love you. And that when it's all over, we can have the life we want. Maybe not here, but elsewhere…" … _up there,_ he doesn't say, biting his lip, doesn't dare to admit what he wants to do with himself when this is all over.

"Ross?" she gasps quietly, not sure what to do with herself.

He wants to dare again, to taste her lips that perhaps this illusion, this one right here is real enough to hold onto. He rises, leveling his head to hers, and he can feel her breath against his lips.

She sees the way he looks at her lips. She wants to shut her eyes and lean in, but her eyes stay wide and she can't bring herself to move.

He finds the uncertainty in her eyes, mirroring the doubts and fears in his own, and with a bite to his lips and a strength to him he almost doesn't recognize, he leans away, letting the panic in his heart still as he slowly makes his way back to his seat.

By the time he sits down, he hears the door click. And in that instance, he realizes that she is gone, and so is her mug.

He leans back into his seat, a sigh breaching his quivering lips as his quaking body settles still.

He reaches for his mug and takes a steady drink, feeling the heat roll down his throat. But when the porcelain thing finally clangs with the wooden desk, he realizes that it hasn't vanished.

_And that her scent still fills the air._

* * *

Calvary hasn't worn a black suit since college but the fine cloth still fits, and it's a wonder to An why he doesn't wear it more often. But when he turns to his usual brown suit, he plucks the pink plastic rose broach from its breast pocket and puts it on. It doesn't look nearly as good if it were backdrop by brown, but it's his and it's a part of him, and somehow that's a good enough excuse to pull the look together.

He adjusts his lapels just to be sure the feel of them isn't something illusory. He remembers this tightness around him, hugging just enough to hang over his skinny frame as if to appear muscular. And he certainly was, once upon a time.

But those were days of another life, a different person, naïve and misguided. Youth treated him like the way it did everyone else but the boy who would later become the town drunk would only yet understand a fearful life, reveling in the joys of avid mirth and perfection before it is torn away from him. And too soon was such youth robbed from him, and too soon did he meet the bottle in that seemingly endless spiral downward.

And yet here he is now, a figure the town not only respects but also admires, placing him on a pedestal as no one dares defy the man who is nothing but the town's shining beacon… No, that isn't right… He's the only _remaining_ beacon.

Again he touches the ornament adorned on his chest, the once rough plastic petals have smoothened over time. Kayla once told him that it represented how he's changed over the years, how the hard man smoothened under all the tender care and affection.

Perhaps he has gone soft, sporting none of the once riveting musculature he once had. The tones across his body are fine but thinner than they used to be, but he also used to be full of hope, a bright athlete with an even brighter future. And the one he turned into after that only grew stronger in his despair, with muscles that were haughty and frightening, ready to challenge the next drunk who thought they could best him. But then that little otter came and his body soon found some strange contrast between both his past selves, melded together into this obscure amalgamation of what was supposedly the new him. And that man was a realist who took the broken world around him and nurtured it till it was bearable, a man whose strength poured out of his body and into his soul, a mixture of strength that was once a careful construction of cunning and deceit, now tactile, generous, and painfully honest.

He finds that he's been staring at himself for too long. Long enough for An to spy him through the doorway as she admires his appearance.

He can see her in the reflection, ambivalence so vivid on her features that it almost makes him laugh. She wants to appear professional but loves the way he looks, spurning a risqué comment to edge off her throat before she swallows it with a nervous gulp.

For a moment he decides to admire her as well.

Adorned in a sleeveless yet conservative black dress with a wide skirt rimmed with lace, she actually looks younger than she actually is. And with the bright coloration she's applied to her fur, it's clear that the makeup is turning her features young, which disappoints him because youth is not something he finds attractive, a clear sign that she's trying to at least physically be less appealing. And yet, even then he decides to chuckle at the thought, audibly this time.

His soft chortle makes her suddenly very aware of where she is and what she's doing. She coughs twice to calm herself and call his attention, looking up at the man as he turns to meet her gaze with a smile as soft as his silly broach.

"Are you ready, sir?" she asks steadily, trying to sound neutral and cold.

He laughs a little louder at that, tugging his smile a little wider, glimpsing the thin pale line of his teeth. "Try not to be formal with me, An. Not only does it not suit you, it's also terribly disconcertin'."

"Fine then," she huffs as she motions for him to follow her down the hall as she leaves. "Hurry up, ya' dumb cat!"

He allows himself to chuckle once more. "That's more like it."

He follows her downstairs and into the hallway, but then the sound of music fills the air, causing the smile across his lips to burn further into his cheeks. With eyes squeezed shut as he delights in what he understands as Chopin's Nocturne, the ninth opus, number 2.

"Who is playin' that wonderful music?"

"One of the staff, a new guy." She gestures into the room to his right, and as he peers into it, finds the ballroom but beyond it is another room, a study of sorts, where the piano is clearly being fiddled with by someone. He can only see the side of his arm which is covered in his dirty teal jumpsuit as the rest of him is obscured by the piano's lid.

"Remind me to hire 'im for a different job. I wouldn't mind havin' a pianist like that to entertain guests."

"Classical dork…" She laughs to herself.

He sighs happily, letting the melody play out as he makes his way passed her, ignoring her other comments. "Chopin, you wonderful animal…"

"Choppin'?" she asks, tilting her head at him, only to find herself disappointed as he turns to her then laughs again. She gets that she probably mispronounced but she's no classic buff like he is. _Who the hell listens to this stuff nowadays anyway?_

When she follows him out the door, she sees Barnaby and Clementine waltzing haphazardly and in poor rhythm along the grass as they too listen to the melody. _Forget I asked._

"Lovely day, isn't it?" Calvary greets them.

"Afternoon, mayor," Clem greets, giggling against Barns' shoulder, "hasn't been a day quite as bright as this in a while." Of course she's wrong, but this week has certainly felt like a lifetime's length all on its own.

"Strange how it is, though," Barns comments as he spins into view, "but I guess a cloudy day might not have been ideal."

He shrugs. "Good a day as any, I suppose." He nods as he walks passed them, eyes toward the bright afternoon sun, a side smile sinking into his features.

An doesn't dare comment on it, looking up at him with an uncertainty that she only barely tried to hide. He notices, as he always does, chooses not to comment either.

Once inside his car, she drives Calvary toward the northern end of the town to an open field carved out of the forest that was once there. It is perhaps the largest property in town that doesn't include the farmlands. As it should be since it's the town cemetery.

She parks the car and almost doesn't get up. She doesn't want to be here but she has a job to do. So she pries herself off the seat with an irritated grunt, earning yet another chuckle from Calvary who has no doubt inferred her internal monologue.

She then comes to miss that laughter when he meets her outside of the car, the smile that accompanied his laughter is as distant as City Hall is now. The steady line to his lips worries her, and almost manages to make her envious, but she pushes the thoughts away as she walks beside him into the area.

The area's vast fields of lonely grass are every sign that this town is prepared to bury much more, a thought that could've been practical and not so grim were it not for recent events. _And now Smith's gone too…_

Still, the place is quite beautiful, and certain days in the year, it's actually quite lively, as families and loved ones would gather and fondly remember those who have passed. She's even come here with Cal once to reminisce about his grandparents on his mother's side.

"Tali? Everythin' alright?" Calvary says, startling her.

She realizes that she's walked ahead of him when she let her mind wander.

An finds a kangaroo before the lion, her nervous hand skimming the fringes of her purse hanging off her shoulder whilst a single rose in her other hand rolls just as anxiously.

She approaches and finds that it's Tali Laoenne, one of Creed's better officers. But the veteran deputy looks startled, frightened, her poise completely lost. "Me? Oh I'm… fine. I'm fine."

_No way in hell is that a lie…_

And it's clear that Calvary isn't buying it either. "Ya' see, that's where you're wrong. You're at yer best friend's funeral, you'd be anythin' _but_ fine, and yet there's somethin' else on your mind." He nears her cautiously, nearly causing her to flinch, resorting to biting her lip instead as her head takes a hard dive to her side.

Hands aback at her response, Calvary shakes his head. "And from what I can tell, it might just be far worse."

"I… I couldn't say, Cal. I'm sorry," she says suddenly before briskly leaving the two of them, her face scrunching up the swirled tribal tattoos on it.

"What's gotten into her?" An comments.

"I've no idea. But it's nuthin' if not entirely curious." He rubs his chin contemplatively, and she enjoys the sight more than she should. All because it isn't a frown, just because it isn't focused on _her_ of all people. And again she pushes away the poisonous thought.

The trek is not arduous, not with this kind of weather and the steady breeze pouring out of the forest, but An finds the melancholy in Calvary once more and it's hard for her to even be around him. She dares to start a conversation but his lifeless responses despite the laugh he tries are only none to clear that his mind is elsewhere the closer they get.

By the time they near the ceremony, An decides to hang back, watching him go on.

He stops then, realizing that she isn't beside him. "You comin'?"

"Nah, I'll… I'll just watch from a distance. It's not like I knew her anyway." At any other time she would have loved for him to fight for her, to make him egg her on about joining him, but this time — a moment quite rare — does she find her own eyes begging him not to take her with him.

And so he nods solemnly, walking on with his hands in his pockets.

Across the cemetery the headstones mark where many have been laid to rest. But where many come here to celebrate the lives of those passed, there is this place, decorated by hedges and close enough to the forest that you can see into its tree line and watch them stretch endlessly. It is here that all who come only come to mourn, because all the graves are empty, because Carrion never leaves any behind.

There is a fence that encompasses this area with an iron arch that hangs over the gate with the words "In Loving Remembrance" molded into it. And Calvary laments at the idea that he'd ever have to bury Kayla's body here.

Perhaps it is morbid to place all of Carrion's victims in one area, but it was a suggestion fulfilled from City Hall itself by its people. They wanted a place to remember them, with shallow graves for their caskets for when they eventually find the bodies so they can bury them properly. But that was years ago, well before Calvary's election into office, when they were naïve and hopeful that the killer would be caught and the dead recovered. Nowadays it is little more than a macabre practice.

And though Calvary has attended each and every one since becoming mayor, this time around he has a personal stake in it.

To his surprise he finds a young otter leaning by the gate, looking about until their eyes finally meet.

"Japeth?" he calls out to the otter. "What are you doing here?"

"I… I wanted to come see you." He approaches slowly, a steady gait that is strong despite circumstances, but it's clear to Calvary that it's a farce, because the joy in his eyes is gone, the happy-go-lucky little otter he once knew left somewhere on days bygone. "You knew her real well, Cal, so I figured you'd be here."

"We _were_ old friends, after all." Calvary admits as Japeth raises a single brow at him. But Calvary knows Japeth isn't here to talk about the funeral, much less attend it. "I suppose you heard about Kayla?"

The real question asked, Japeth shakes his head, face scrunching up as he holds back whatever emotion he's really feeling, looking only frustrated but likely only at himself. "How could I not?"

"She stopped sending you letters, didn't she?" The otter regards him with a look of shock, but then he realizes that of course Calvary knew. "So it _was_ you."

"I… I'm sorry we didn't tell you."

Calvary only responds by patting him on the head. Japeth Whitewood was Kayla's best friend but had to move away to attend college. And during that time, Calvary knew she sent letters to some secret boyfriend rather frequently. Who _else_ could it have been?

Calvary walks on, taking the otter with him as they pass the headstones, taking a pace slower than their usual.

The pain is so vivid in Japeth's eyes that Calvary momentarily forgets his own pain and almost entirely forgets why he's even here.

"I could've been here for her," the young man tells him, stopping in place as he clenches his fists, trying not to ball.

"Wouldn't have made a difference. There's nuthin' you coulda done." Which is most certainly a lie. Because it would have made a difference… in only that he would've lost them both instead.

It could have come out cold to someone else but Japeth knows how Calvary operates, and his steady tone sells his logic. But the otter's emotions are frayed, dancing about his troubled soul as a flurry of thoughts, doubts, and fears corrupt his mind. And he chooses not to hear the older man when he tries to calm him down. "I should have been here..."

"And then what? Throw away your future? You and I both know that that's not what she wanted." He places a gentle hand on his little shoulder but the young man continues to ignore it. His hands clench before his eyes, trying to his face into it so he doesn't tear up but it's a pathetic display, the fringes of his despair leaking into tears that trail down his thin arms.

And then he shakes his head, a bit of fury snaking into him. "You and I think alike, Cal, that's why we get along. Just like me, you're stuck in a loop, thinking about all the things we could've done differently... that maybe one of them coulda saved her."

"That kind of thought doesn't do us any good, Jap." Again comes that steady voice, one that is calm and collected, one that could have soothed him were it any other situation.

But Japeth feels alone in his pain because Calvary does a very good job at hiding it, so good that he almost believes that he is unaffected. And yet there is that morbid comfort that he knows what's hiding beneath it, even if it only grants a meager comfort for himself. "I know that... but we think it anyway, don't we? We know it's irrational, it's pointless, but it's how we operate. It doesn't change who we are, it doesn't change the fact that we're desperate to believe that she's still alive somehow…"

He nearly screams, balling fully now as he falls to his knees, his hands slipping into his scalp as he openly sobs. "I can fool myself into thinking I can feel her presence, that somewhere deep down in my heart that I know she's still alive but this isn't some fairytale we'll one day tell our kids! She's gone, Cal, and I have to accept that." He looks up at him, his eyes taking a serious tone to them despite his tears, looking up at him with a plea that he knows is coming. "And so should you."

Calvary is taken aback nonetheless, looking at the otter with what looks to be disbelief, but it's only a front to the pain that lingers beneath his affronted features.

"If we think alike that way," he continues, wiping away his tears, "then I know you haven't accepted that. And so much of me doesn't want to either but I at least know I have to. If you don't move on, then you won't be prepared for what comes next." He stands up, looking up at the man and seeing the mask he puts on begin to crack, leaking some of that sorrow out of him.

The moment that passes between them almost feels like an eternity to him so Japeth starts walking away, bidding him goodbye. "I'll see you around, Cal."

Calvary doesn't respond, taking a minute for himself. But then he turns back to the otter as he is only a foot or so away. "What _does_ come next?" he asks finally.

He stops with his back still turned, trying not to show his face. "Nothing if you don't do anything. And we both know what being empty and alone does to you, Cal."

It isn't until Japeth finally walks out of view does Calvary let a single tear shed as he inhales uneasily, shivering as he exhales, steeling himself as he continues on.

Left alone with his thoughts, he wonders of that merciless truth readily thrust upon him by Japeth as his eyes turn skyward, breathing in the open air as it poisons him with reality and clarity. The breadth of his lies comes steadily before him, forming the mask he dares to show the town so it can delude itself into thinking that he feels no pain, knows no fear, that he will herald them onward until this nightmare ends.

But the mask comes steadily off as it hinges off his cheeks when he finally reaches the procession, a sign by the entrance with words scrawled in some fancy script. " _In loving memory of Elira Rundi_ ".

Slowly he enters, every step matched by the unsteady rhythm of his heart. He passes by people he knew quite well back in high school, little more than strangers now, really. But they regard him like the celebrity that he is, the hero that he appears to be. And he finds that the mask he wears as he dawns that bitter smile is suffocating.

But when he approaches the front of the procession, he sees the dull, soulless eyes of Rostetler Rundi, and the man shares with him the same bitter smile. Because they're both in pain, both struggling with the hell this week has wrought. And in that he finds that Ross – who utters a sad chuckle – can see through the mask.

They do not speak during the procession, even when they sat together, even when they lowered the coffin into the ground.

By the end of it all, Ross spends the better part of an hour staring into the gravestone with as much contempt as he is willing to exhume, clear against his tiny scowl and sharpened features hidden behind slumped body language that transmits his lie to onlookers that he is only mourning, accented by his gentle caress of over the head of the grave.

But Calvary is rather intimate with that rage billowing beneath the stoic puma's clenched fists, and knows to approach him cautiously and at a distance, watching the crowds disperse slowly, giving them some meager privacy save for the passersby who approach briefly every once in a while.

"You've an unkind look to ya'," Calvary says first.

He shakes his head, the scorn burning his scrunched lip as it quivers balefully. "It was empty," he says, eyeing the grave and the bare casket underneath.

"I wouldn't say that," he says calmly, approaching his side. "They indignified this procession by filling it with societal expectations. As her husband they expected you ta' give them a ceremony. But I know for a fact that no way in hell you'd do that 'less ya' caught that killer."

Ross looks back at him, a familiar expression gracing his features as they watch each other as if staring in the mirror. "I suppose that's why Kayla doesn't have one yet?"

Calvary sighs. "Not up to me ta' decide, but her folks are still grievin' so they haven't even thought about it. But were it up ta' me, I wouldn't have done it myself."

Ross huffs, his neutral gaze matching his crossed arms. "You forgot to ask why we're here anyway."

"Cause I already know the answer. As actin' sheriff, you've an image to keep, an image a man such as yourself are willing to sacrifice pride and honor for just so you can keep folks believin' in ya. No room for doubt when it comes to the public. Not when you need them on your side to help you do what you gotta do." He says it without malice. In fact, his tone is really more in line with pity, and Ross can't help but find some strange comfort in knowing that he can't hide behind anything with him around.

Ross is surprised at his response, but he supposes he really shouldn't be, regarding the lion with a curiosity that would have better befitted his old self. "Would you really have withheld her funeral if you were given the chance to?"

"Ha! Image be damned. I'd sooner lose my job."

Ross wasn't sure how to respond to that, causing him to doubt himself. He didn't love Kayla the way he loved his wife and yet… no that's not true. He may not have been in love with her but he cherished her with the same intensity, like she was precious and rare, too good for the world she lived in.

"Even if it meant it'd bring you no closer to avenging her?" Ross asks him.

"Unlike you, Carrion can be caught without me. I'm not the one investigatin'. My job is to keep everyone from fallin' apart, but we'll survive with or without me. I'll just make it easier to deal with. But in all honesty, if I had none o' that drive left in me, I'd've just held back and waited till I could take a crack at that bastard. Take a pound of flesh myself if I could, and I don't need to be mayor to do that."

Calvary levels with Ross, fixing a stern gaze that matches his own, the same malign mixture of fury and malcontent, vengeance burning beneath his eyes. "Ross, as a grievin' man left behind to another, I need to ask if you're certain you'll catch Carrion."

His features soften only slightly, enough to notably change but not enough to appear any less determined with his still pointed gaze. "On my life."

With a firm hand resting on Ross's shoulder, Calvary nods slowly. "Then I'll do everythin' I can to make sure you and I get what we want." He leans in, a darker tone shading his eyes. "That we are paid our due."

_Calvary, you are too kind a man to want what I want._

Ross accepts it with an equally firm shake, the weakness in it evident as their hands fall away. Because Calvary is a broken man inside, looking to horizons and wondering with some derelict hope that Kayla might be looking at the same one, denial still etching his features as he strains to come to terms with them. But Ross, despite feeling the same intensity, does not share his sentiments.

He does not share in his feeble hopes, does not cling to them as if ignorant to the reality staring him in the face. Ross wholly accepts that his wife is gone, and believes that somehow Calvary realizes that Kayla may be lost to him too, buried in his self-deprecating denial.

But lost as they are, they still share in that same abject fury, that same abandon to their lives that may end up destroying them.

An approaches the pair then, calling out to Calvary. "Cal, we should get going."

With a quick nod, Calvary leaves his side. Ross spares only the briefest glance at An who chooses to ignore him entirely. A response best left at that, a cold neutrality to his face that spites her.

Ross then turns slowly, regards the crowds about him as they pass. Ignorant people who only came because they were expected to, who didn't know her for the woman she was, who wanted to honor her passing today just so they can get it over and done with. And with a damning scowl that vanishes the next moment, does he quickly find himself alone in the world once more.

But then his eyes catch the glimpse of something shimmering on top of the headstone, and with a gasp does he lose himself completely.

Calvary turns around in time to see it, and he too is left in utter shock.

"Cal?" An asks before tracing the line of his sights, looking at Ross who slowly approaches the headstone, letting out a gasp herself when she sees it.

Ross clamps a quivering palm to his mouth, his breathing becoming coarse and panicked as his heart races a thousand beats a minute, nearly causing him to collapse as he reaches for the shining trinket: _Eli's wedding ring planted on the headstone._

With a clenched fist pressing the golden ring in his hands, pressing into his palm till it hurts. He opens his eyes with a renowned fury, red filling his vision as his composure shatters entirely.

He scans the passersby with that unkempt fury, a panic to him so surreal that it nearly tears him apart. The sheer horror of it rolling through his fur as he nearly screams out for Carrion. But as every face he sees merges with the crowd, he steps away – nearly collapsing to his knees – realizing that he was just here, and that he disappeared.

An and Calvary share in his lamentation for that which they themselves have lost, searching the crowd with a broken fervor he can barely muster himself.

A defeated sob spills out of Ross's lips as he looks about and the people fade away amidst his overwhelming sorrow. And with a scream that echoes through the field, a figure in the dark watches him from a distance, an expression to him that is, at first, impersonal and disinterested, but as he walks away — sparing a glance at those he has poisoned, screaming and searching, spurning the same bottled emotions from the crowd — suddenly his lips loosen from their detached façade into what can only be described as apologetic.


	16. Those Left Behind (pt. 4)

**Twenty-thousand? *Sputters* Twenty-** _**thousand!?** _ **Well this chapter is shaping up to be the lengthiest one yet. At this point the chapter is already at half the length** _**of the entire story thus far** _ **! So forgive me, everyone who's been waiting for the main story to update, but that one isn't getting updated just yet because this chapter has one more shorthand update left to go. It'll be done before the end of the year. I'm gunning for early next month.**

**And if you're wondering, no, the following chapters will not be this long… hopefully. It's unlikely. They will also be much easier to write. XD**

**So yes, I still mean it when I said that I'm not big on author's notes, it kind of distracts from the piece but… well let's face it, keeping you guys on the loop is important. I could settle for making a twitter account for just this story but I doubt we're big enough to warrant** _**that.** _

**At any rate, I've been meaning to address a few things.**

**Several readers have noted that the story has trouble staying consistent on its tensing. We're addressing that everyday, making sure I relearn tensing. I spent years learning how to write but none of my teachers have pointed out my tensing issue (it's annoying, I know, and I go to the supposedly best school in the city). Funny how it took the INTERNET to help me out with that. A wholehearted thank you to all those who have lent their criticisms on the matter. :) This is meant to be a learning experience for me anyway and I'm glad to see the areas where I can improve, because otherwise, I'll never make a career out of this if I don't keep learning.**

**In fact, we'll be taking the time to edit the ENTIRE piece so we can work on tensing properly. At present we've opted to go for the original route and make it present tense but present tense is weird. Because when you talk about things that happened in the past (even if they happened just a minute ago) there's suddenly a past tense sentence in the middle of the mostly present tense paragraph! I'll talk it out with my team (what's left of it, anyway) and decided what route we intend to go. Then we'll rework the entire thing. Don't worry, I won't take it out from my time working on the story. XD**

**On that note, TO ALL MY REVIEWERS, I am terribly sorry that I can't reply to every single review. _ I would love to but I don't want to sound repetitive. By the end of the story, I'll properly thank each and every one of you for your contributions, constructive criticisms, and kind words. And yes, even Reddit.**

**And while I'm still here, I'd like to address something. A reader before made a comment that – if I'm understanding it correctly – scared said reader when another reader defended the story. I don't know if I read the situation wrong or not, and yes it's all good now if things ever weren't, but let me be clear:** _**we're all friends here,** _ **interested in the same fandom, and as such we will not discourage you from** _**having an opinion.** _ **We never want you to feel bad about having an issue with the story, nor would we discourage you from disagreeing with another person about it for as along we don't bicker. And I'm glad we're all being civil, a feat in its own right in any fandom, but we would also like to encourage you to have opinions (silent or spoken). Don't be afraid, we won't bite. :)**

**Also, we'll be taking some advice from a particularly helpful reader by the name of** **CHA1 T3A** **and responding to a concern made by** **DrummerMax64** **. Yes, we understand that the updates take a while and we can't expect everyone to remember all the characters and the plot so far when we finally update again. So we'll be helping with that by making a recap whenever we feel it is necessary.**

**So if you feel like you need a refresher, here's the character event recap:**

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**RECAP:**

**Liz Waterdale and Suther Reese are two deputies who asked Judy early on in the story about her thoughts on Sheriff Creed and his protégé, Terence Kaenid, of potentially being Carrion. Reese is actually Terence's partner, and Liz's partner is her boyfriend who actually supports Ross, meaning that these two can't actually work for their partners. (There's a reason why we don't mention what's-his-face, you'll see in the Trivia when the story ends).**

**Tali is a kangaroo veteran with tribal tattoos on her face. One of the earlier victims, Sigurd Mason, was like a son to her. Previously at the cemetery, we find out that that Elira Rundi (Ross's wife) was her best friend.**

**Ilia Mellivora was the primary concern of the previous chapter because she was the lioness who was hopelessly in love with the mayor, Calvary. She is the reason why all her graduated schoolmates have a job at the Sheriff's Department, including herself. But this kindness of saving their hides from unemployment was spat on when the deputies became irate about whose they were on, Creed's or Ross's.**

**Two female deputies, a hippo and a wolf, came to her aid when a lion deputy accused her of being a hypocrite.**

**Smith is an oryx and employee of the gun shop, Buckshot. Smith used to be one of Nick's old friends back when he visited the town all those years ago on a "business deal" with a weasel named Lorenzo Valentino.**

**There was a brief incident between An and Ross when the two met at a bar. An criticized him for his sanity, and he criticized her for her complacency.**

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**Well, I hope that was good enough to catch you all up if you haven't been already.**

**Now we'll make no promises but we'll try and finish this chapter pretty soon. The next update will be the last for the chapter and, really, the only problem is that we need to keep the mood consistent.**

**BUT ON ONE FINAL NOTE: we'd like to remind our readers to check out the Trivia section when we're done with the whole story (it will precede the Epilogue for reasons we won't express now), because even if you aren't interested in the Trivia of the story, we'd like everyone to at least consider checking out the last piece of trivia.**

**We're letting folks know as early as now because we're getting there pretty quick and we'd like to have you keep it in mind when we get there. And yes, the story won't have many chapters left to go. It looks like we'll end it at chapter 8 (not including the epilogue which will likely be lengthy enough to be a chapter all on its own).**

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The face Liz spies across her room is one that disgusts her, one that garners incredulity and abhorrence from her as she stares at it as if against her will. Ironically she finds it hard to look away as the façade it bares is almost entrancing in its masquerade, a performance that distracts from its true intention.

Its owner stares back at her with a winning smile that she can see beyond, the cracks in the mask that make it clear that its wearer is in pain, struggling to bury its own inner turmoil in order to do what needs to be done.

It is as cold and unkind as it needs to be, almost porcelain as its features solidify into something that is clearly an act. And though she might forgive it for what it is about to do, the ends still do not justify the means, and thus she is torn asunder at the idea that she may never forgive that smile for trying to delude itself.

_Such a pity that it's hers._

With a hefty sigh she picks herself up, finishes setting the buttons on her uniform, and then leaves the room.

The hustle and bustle of the town on her way to work is filled with familiar sights and sounds, but what dejects from the norm is her sense of paranoia, that all eyes are watching her, judging her. Her footfalls channel echoes that, in the deep silence of the mid-autumn reverie, becomes the countdown to a time bomb, one that ends with a treachery her heart can't bear to carry.

But she steels herself, eyes onward as she stops at the block's corner.

Reese picks her up in his Wakeman Pulloroy, a bug-like four-seater car with wide headlights like continually surprised eyes. He told her that he bought it cause of some English sci-fi time travel TV show that used it for a few episodes.

"So they used it to time travel?"

"Just for a while. I got it cause you couldn't exactly drive around in a police box."

"A police box? For time travel?"

"Don't ask."

The armadillo is a walking fandom, evident in the superhero bobblehead on his dashboard and his fantasy tee tucked underneath his unbuttoned uniform, not to mention the alien keychain dangling off his ignition. And they amuse her because he is very self-aware of his detachment from reality, an individual with a million and one crazy things to talk about because he chooses to speak of them and forget all the rest, and she is consequently drawn in with him. She can never truly relate, she isn't really like that, but his excitement — his sheer, evident _passion_ — over something, fictional or otherwise, is a far cry from her conversations with her boyfriend, which are either romantic or general, and not much else.

And she'd laugh with Reese, thinking that he is everything she'd want in a friend, someone who can distract her from the day-to-day tedium, one who doesn't look at her as nothing but another person. Someone who doesn't see her as a woman, who doesn't see her as an elder sister, someone who doesn't see her as an officemate. Just _her_ , Liz Waterdale, and none of the things that have forcefully defined her, a clean slate in every respect.

Though she would like it very much if he never sees her beyond that, such a thing is impossible right here in this moment, because Reese's smile slowly dies during a particularly lengthy moment of silence, and when she looks at him, such hopes of recapturing that bliss is stricken almost immediately.

Her mirth is lost in his faraway gaze, watching the road with a mute tongue and an empty expression. His mind is elsewhere, on a solid theory that may condemn a good man who may or may not be a long lived serial killer. A damnation she thought she was never capable of, and much less him.

The atmosphere catches up to her, as abrupt as it is, and she finds herself wondering about what is to come. "Reese, should we really be doing this?" she asks barely in a whisper, twiddling her thumbs as she leans into her seat.

"Wrong question," he says quickly, his eyes growing heavy as his façade wilts away and the haunted man reveals himself, mirroring her own indecision. And then he glances at her, fixing her with a stern yet worried gaze. "Try again."

She nearly bites her tongue, wants to silence herself before she can admit it to him. Because she has to first admit it to herself, and Lord knows how hard that is.

Minutes pass and he almost expects her to stay silent, but she doesn't. The words form at her lips, they are selfish and cowardly, but they leave her anyway, trusting that he'll understand her. "Should _I_ be doing this?"

He doesn't answer.

For a moment she believes she's upset him, until she meets his distant gaze again, watching the road with a contemplation so intense that it is almost programmed, robotic. But when the car stops at a light, his fingers rap against the wheel, before falling completely, down to his lap. And there, in that street, on that quiet road off the path, he finally turns to look at her.

She can see the pain in his eyes, the sheer disbelief at the state of himself. Then his eyes drift onward, where the lonely road stretches before him in this mid-autumn afternoon.

"You know, in my six years working in the station, the hardest job I ever had to do was chase a sugar high squirrel through town." The chuckle he manages is bitter and solemn, a hand clutched to his mouth as he shakes his head. Life was so much simpler back then. "I felt exhausted, pain in parts I never knew existed, and I swear I never felt more out of shape than I was in that moment."

Eyes shut, head pointed at the ceiling, with a sigh that ripples down his quivering throat, he chokes back something in the back of his mind. "But I never had to do something like this. Never really had to take my job seriously. I almost quit, you know? I needed a job and I found one but I heard about what happened with Carrion, and all those fucked up stories filling the airwaves out of the ZPD. I told myself that if shit ever got that serious, I'd quit. Couldn't handle it. But here I am, scared out of my mind and so nervous I can hear my shell clinking against my back."

He regards her with an expression bitter and sore, aching and unsure. A wreck of a man, with a gravitas to him that is unfitting for one of his like. "Cause you were right: The consequences of us being right far outweigh the consequences of us being wrong."

The car starts up, taking to that road with a fervor that would have scared her were she not lost in his ocean of pain, one she shares with him. "We move forward, every step of the way, because so does Carrion. But unlike us, he doesn't lose traction, and yet – after all these years – we're finally catching up to him. We have to take every opportunity we can to lock. him. down."

"I do this job to pay the bills and nothing else. I have no delusions of heroics or some off-shoot romance in the office. It's just money to me. But if we don't do anything, if we don't move forward and make this claim, then not only do we prove Ross right that we've grown complacent, we also prove that Carrion has nothing to fear from the station. Right or wrong, doing this shows that we're willing to do what needs to be done. That we aren't weak. And that we take no exceptions."

The car stops at the station, and with a hefty sigh, Reese grabs the suitcase in the back from his seat. With it in hand, he spares a glance at Liz who stares back at him.

He wants to choke, because the weight on her shoulders is as heavy as his. And though he might have bared it on his own, to see it on hers is another weight altogether.

He almost makes to apologize, but Liz stands on her seat, shifts over to his side, and hugs him.

The moment tells him nothing he doesn't already know, but the reminder is sweet, if not a little bitter. With his arm around her, he lets himself sink into the tiny woman. Then his face buries into her shoulder, dampening her fur as he wheezes.

Reese isn't a strong man, neither physically, nor emotionally. But the strength he needs isn't only his own. And with her, he can do what needs to be done, even if she's no different, even if the strength between them is imaginary. It'll be enough.

The walk into the station is coupled with harried footsteps, cautious yet steely as the two grit through it and push on.

Brushing passed the crowd, the senior deputies quietly step into the briefing room, calling the attention of all those present. Everyone appears to have arrived early.

It almost feels like a death march as the pair approaches the front. No one really pays them any mind, save for Nick and Judy who watch them attentively. Because they know what their theory is, they know what they're here to present, and if the way the fox and bunny shift in their seat is any indication, they're uneasy about the entire affair. Liz had asked Judy about her thoughts on Creed and Terence being suspects, and it's clear that Liz intends to share with them all the same kind of heavy theory if not the same one.

Tali enters the room, shaken, perturbed to degrees that should have meant that she shouldn't have come in to work today, but with a sharp breath, she locks the doors and joins her rhino partner, Javan, on the left-hand side.

Reese looks over the crowd with Liz. Today is an opportune day, one that might likely never come again. Because here in this room is every veteran with their head on straight alongside Nick and Judy, and no one else. No Ross or his cronies, none of the additional ZPD, not even Sam, and especially not Sheriff Denzel Creed who has opted to stay home for the day to ensure his wife is safe from any repetition of last night's incident.

Reese bites his lip as he stares over the expectant crowd. The evidence, the logic, all the technicalities he can summon at will but the impromptu introduction to the whole affair is lost to him. He knows that in order to grasp their attention, he must speak with confidence, so that he can give their hard work the transmission befitting of their extensive efforts. But even before he has the chance to form them, Liz takes a confident step forward, drawing their attention to the little woman.

"As you all know, our recent encounters with Carrion — especially the one just hours earlier — has caused quite a stir amongst our peers. But with that comes a heavy price for Carrion, he's left us with openings to exploit." Intrigue, the spark amongst them that pushes her onward, steadying her breathing so that her fists can unfurl.

Reese surprises her (and himself) by speaking next. "In the case of our old friend Goddard Smith," he draws out a photo from their folder to tape onto the whiteboard, "we found no evidence of forced entry into the home. In fact, very rarely was there evidence to suggest forced entry of any kind in any of the victims' homes. So we can safely assume that Carrion didn't break in."

"Instead, we can assume he was _let_ in," Liz continues. "Meaning that our culprit, as suspected by many of us over the years, may likely be someone this town can readily trust." The realization hit them all at once. Liz almost managed a smile were she not still incredibly terrified.

"And in addition to all our to-be-presented evidence, we may have come to a fearful conclusion," Reese says with a dreadful twinge to his heart, steeling himself for the outcry that is sure to come.

Liz matches the looks of the crowd. Some are expectant, perhaps excited that one of their own has managed to take a great leap for the case, and others are weary, preparing themselves for what may come. Liz gulps at their reactions, Nick and Judy the most cautious of all as they encourage her with a steady nod.

"So…" a pause to her that stops the uneven beating of her heart, almost coming out with a choke, "it is with a heavy heart that we introduce our own prime suspect: Sheriff Denzel Creed."

The voices ringing through the briefing room resound an echoing disbelief, nearly causing them to shrink as many call to question their loyalties, some even threatening to leave, but those who have kept an open mind have kept their mouths shut against the overwhelming numbers.

All but one.

Tali shouts, calling them to silence, the earlier shaken woman now stoic and pointed, the swirls to her tribal facial tattoos accenting her features as if to emphasis her gaze. "Can't you people see that they don't like having come to this conclusion in the first place? If it's him they've opted to look into, then there must be good reason. Enough to make a choice this hard. I know we'd all like it to be someone we could easily hate, but let's be honest, there's no one in town like that."

 _Except Ross,_ Javan wants to say, but held his tongue as the young woman joins his side once more. She's been in love with that man for so long that it's no wonder she's been approaching him much more frequently, but that only gives him reason to worry further. Cause even at a distance, Ross so clearly isn't interested in romancing anyone at the moment.

Javan, with a steady huff, motions for the two to go on. "C'mon now, tell us what you've found." The hard neutrality to his tone does little for their nerves, but at least it doesn't worsen them.

With a good mental push or two, Reese reaches into their folder to tape another image on the whiteboard, a photocopy of an old illustration where a drunkard collapsed onto the street is reaching for two red lights zooming away. "I'm sure everyone remembers the red eyes from the Dead Horse legend. A drunk reported that he saw blinking red eyes take his friend away. The report suggests that they belonged to a car. In the very least, we know that Carrion drives but more than that, we have to take a look at the victim."

Liz pulls out a photo of a mascara wearing elephant in an office cubicle. "Dana Willamette, the seventh victim of the original case, was an elephant. She was reported to have spent her last hours in the alley of the Rogue's Gallery. With the minimalistic evidence of Carrion that we have, we in the very least know that he was parked on that street, but Dana's favorite smoking spot in that alley was at the end of it, several feet away. Meaning that Carrion had to have been strong enough to lift her all the way out of it. A feat very few in town can manage, a feat so narrow that it cuts out most of the town's residents."

Reese places an illustrated map of the alleyway before them, scribbled with red and blue markers about distance and the positioning of Dana, as well as a box for where the unknown vehicle was likely parked. Reese then turns to regard them, hoping his confidence will get him through the evidence. "The idea that Carrion had to be strong enough to lift her was discredited when it was far more likely that she was led to the vehicle since there was no sign of moving equipment. But in a recent interview with the anonymous friend of Miss Willamette, we found out that she was jumpy and paranoid, made especially worse with the disappearances. He said that she would have screamed at the very sight of someone else in that alleyway since the bartender noted that she leapt even at the sound of the door opening."

The uncertain looks they get give Liz and Reese strength. They're peaking their interests, quelling their doubts, because they all know the stories of what Creed can do that most others can't.

"So it would not have made sense that she was led to the vehicle then incapacitated. Evidently, we can safely assume that Carrion is incredibly strong."

Liz places a few black and white images on the board, where Creed is walking out of a boxing ring with a bloodied eye and cheek but with his fists held up victoriously as his opponent is wheeled out of the room into a tiny crowd. "During Creed's time as a caporegime, he was purportedly challenged to a boxing match at the Ape-X Theater. His opponent, an elephant by the name of Luis Durmond. Several eye witness accounts of that unofficial brawl testified to Creed lifting Luis and throwing him off stage at the end of it. And remember, Creed was still that same man eleven years ago." Only in the last few years has Creed's age begun to show, fitting his place as Carrion during the initial kidnappings.

It is then, with a following silence so irreparably heavy, that the door behind them clicks open. To some it was a relief that it wasn't Creed who entered the room with a key in hand, but most found enough ire to ignore that idea when it is Ross instead. The only key to the briefing room belongs to the sheriff, resting in his office, which, as they are all reminded, presently belongs to _him._

He stays there at the back, ignoring the stares and glares. But then his eyes fall to Tali, a hint of shock coiling around his parted lips, but then he shuts it, eyes forward and nowhere else. Then the attention shifts back to the front, Liz finding it almost hard to breathe as she meets his eyes.

Nick watches the man cautiously, noting the straight face that is clearly forced. Nick had the displeasure of knowing what happened only hours ago, and yet whatever pity he might have had for the man quickly dwindles away with the mere sight of him. Days ago he would have understood that madness, the overbearing sorrow hefted on his shoulders too incorrigible to reasonably manage, but the stoicism in his eyes reminds Nick that he hides something else behind that cold exterior, a madman out to get him. And though that might have been forgivable, he worries that he'll use Judy to do just that.

The whispers in the crowd begin to swell again, drawing attention away. But Javan, who is currently using everything in his power to not look at Ross, coughs audibly. When all eyes fall to him, he motions for Liz and Reese to continue.

Liz hardly finds it in herself to breathe when locking eyes with Ross, but then Reese squeezes her shoulder, nodding with a small smile that tells her he's still here for her.

Reese then turns away to his folder, and then winces when he takes out another photo for the board. It's one they asked Sam to take in Creed's own home. But she doesn't know why they wanted it, she didn't even bother to ask, having been distracted by an embarrassing situation with Bogo that had her simply assuming they had a good reason.

A twinge of dread dips into his throat when he thinks what she'll do when she finds out what they're doing. "According to Officer Sam, Creed actually has reinforced rafts in his personal office at home." The photo is of Creed's cabinet behind his desk, and inside there are three hooks and only two rafts hung. "And as you can see, one of them is missing."

"Last night," Reese continues, "Bucky told Deputy Kaenid that Creed met him at Smith's home, rummaging through his belongings. If we consider that he might be Carrion, it could turn out to be suspicious behavior, potentially pointing to him returning to the crime scene, ensuring he left no tracks."

"Why would his own raft be on Bucky's car? Why leave it there so close to himself?" Judy asks mostly as a challenge to their theory, her tone neutral and not at all accusatory. Both her and her partner have kept an open mind, stoic expressions prepared to consider all angles, perhaps finding hints themselves in their evidence… or faults in their logic.

And that idea scares the two.

"To maintain the illusion," Reese replies with an unshaken confidence, irking some of the deputies. "Carrion consistently manages to play his cards close to his chest so it is not beyond the likes of him." They don't like the way he's accusing Creed without any of his previous caution, clear in the glares he tries to ignore. "And if the incident at the cemetery is any indication, he has not at all lost his confidence." And with that, such irritations are lost as the fresh memory of the sheer madness erupting from a place of mourning leaving them with a bitter taste in their mouths.

"To add to the already questionable behavior, both Creed and Bucky were asked about their involvement with the raft and what connection it has to the swamp. They opted to remain silent." Perhaps it was because of the shock of the evening, unwilling to divulge their apparently well-kept secret with the swamp whilst in mourning. It could very well be a personal matter altogether, but the doubt is there, lingering amongst the crowd.

Even Nick and Judy's steady looks seem to stir, curiosity furthering.

"And if his MO as caporegime is to be believed, he regularly took out his criminal rivals by feeding them to the gators in the swamps." If Creed were ever to fall back to his days as a crime lord, falling into old habits as well would be expected. Disposal via swamp gators is frighteningly plausible. Despite being imperfect – as there is no guarantee that they would be entirely disposed of – the three main lakes that house the gators in the local swamp are vast and have rivers running through and around them, a series of channels much like a maze. If the bodies were dumped there – and it has long been theorized that they might have – then there is almost no way of telling where the bodies would end up. Too much ground to cover.

"Now I know we don't like talking about Creed's past," Liz says, no longer shaken, the only thing bearing her down being the weight on her heart, ignored entirely as she presses on despite herself and Ross's unwavering stare. "But… Creed himself told us to consider all possibilities without exception." It was no doubt a moniker he adopted in his time with the ZPD, and the lot of them took it with them throughout the hard months of the original case and do so now in the current, driving those studious amongst them to challenge their willingness to settle the case, whatever the cost, whomever the culprit might be. And yet to consider that the man who drove them to such dedication, such steely resolve in the face of adversity, to save these people from the demon in town, might very well be the demon himself is a prospect as bitter as the idea that it might be true.

Liz's eyes turn grim as she regards them. She would have choked on her words had she not been mentally prepared. "We know he is driven, intelligent, and meticulous in his work. But we also know that he was ruthless, cunning, and, well acquainted with murder." A dark history paid in full, a story of redemption that is praised and admired by his peers with a hefty, jolly soul that quelled any fear of his history resurfacing or lingering still. There are even those who consider Creed's past a lie, a tall tale sung by an old man whose life in the countryside was essentially eventless.

No one wants to believe it, and despite the lack of definitive proof, it is certainly more proof than anything else they've had. And despite that, it still isn't enough.

"There still isn't enough evidence to solidify it," a hyena in the group comments, earning an easy nod from some of his peers.

"And yet there's no reason why we can't investigate this further." Liz's logic is sound, they have someone that fits the bill.

It would have scared them, being called out for it, but the way the crowd seems to ease itself is indication of the dying tension, giving them more breathing room to speak amongst open minds. Some of them began talking amongst themselves, hints of the conversations wafting into their ears, an open forum of ready discussion.

Liz almost smacks herself for feeling a little giddy that they've come to accept their claims, because the old bear they're accusing is sitting at home, watching over his wife. She wants so much to be wrong, but she needed to do this. And further comfort comes from the way Ross actually looks impressed for a moment.

And then Ross's expression turns baleful, caught in some trepidation as if he is considering a terrifying idea.

He looks to her without the sadism he usually does, instead with eyes as terrified as hers, and then he speaks. "There are enough eye witness accounts, of which can be derived from this very room, that Creed was not present during several of the kidnappings. Old _and_ new."

There is a lightness to his features that almost looks hopeful. Ross is challenging them to come to the same conclusion he has, to test their knowledge.

Liz and Reese exchange a look as the crowd waits patiently for them. When their eyes widen, they know they've found the answer.

"That doesn't excuse him," Reese says finally.

"He might very well have himself an accomplice," Liz adds. "Someone who can mimic his work while he's around so he can draw away suspicion."

Ross speaks slowly as he takes a step forward. "Then, in all likelihood, the most prominent suspect would be Smith."

"Excuse me?" Nick couldn't hold his tongue, giving the man a glare so pointed and aggressive that some of the deputies between them begin to back away.

"If Carrion has a knack for hiding in plain sight, then it would benefit him to have an apprentice with a talent to stay hidden." Ross's tone is as steady as ever, slipping off his tongue with enough ease to appear firm, without a hitch of any kind. "Smith has always been an enigmatic man, whose past we know nothing about. His disappearance might just be convenience to that end."

Javan huffs, unsure where to stand on this. Like Nick, he was a friend to the oryx, but he didn't show it.

"Wait, why not Kaenid?" one of the deputies asks, furthering the unsavory atmosphere.

"He was in the forensics room the night of Smith's kidnapping, and was present with Creed on the night of Mr. Kidd's," Javan adds, sporting an uneasy cocktail of chagrin and bulwark. Because defending Kaenid is one thing, but doing so to aid Ross is another.

Javan tries to shoot Ross a baleful look but he's taken aback when their eyes meet. Ross gives him a thankful nod with an expression that tells him that he's taking all of this very seriously. And with a quiet sigh slipping through Ross's lips, Javan can tell that he's apologetic about the entire affair.

Ross doesn't want to condemn Creed, an idea so incredibly out of left field to the hefty rhino that he almost forgets what he did, almost forgets that treacherous coup that tore their station apart. But the look on his face, that familiar stare that is both stoic and pensive, is telling of the man he used to be, before the madness, before Carrion… when he was a friend.

And that last bitter thought pains Javan the most. Because Ross was more than just a friend, more than just a comrade, he was like a brother, under the watchful, fatherly eyes of Creed, and now it seems that he's drifted so far away that Javan almost forgets what he was like before this mess even happened.

And it was only days ago.

It feels like a lifetime has passed since then, another world so utterly diverse from his own that it's honestly jarring how quickly things have changed. It's a world without Eli who used to cook pancakes just so they can use his homemade syrup, without Kayla who sang at his niece's debut, without Sigurd Mason who was everything like a son to him.

He turns to Tali, the pensive kangaroo looking as dejected as ever, but then he finds that her eyes aren't lost somewhere, they're lingering. When he tracks her sights, she finds that they fall onto Ross, her expression turning into one of longing.

He looks away, saddened by the sight. His friend is hopelessly lost and there's nothing he can do about it. _Don't lose yourself, girl._

It's then that the murmurs in the crowd begin to pick up, even as Ross continues.

"Smith is a proficient marksman, and so is Carrion, as suggested from Mr. Kidd's kidnapping. The shot through the lit home was calculated, and in the rain, the shots through unlit path towards the porch were unlucky."

Nick's furious glare is anything but controlled, his teeth gnashing together as he leans forward over his seat on the table, but Judy holds him back, a gentle tug that quells his fire. But he is no less loathsome, the scowl so evident that those who share in his ire take to matching his glare at Ross.

The conversation from there continues, where Liz and Reese form what seems to be an uneasy understanding between them and Ross. But it is necessary, many of them can see that, but not all of them can come to terms with the theory they've presented so readily.

And so the debate goes on, mumbling and criticism tossed about like a roman forum, but the voices that waft through the room does not belong to that room alone.

Judy hears it first, the sound of some argument echoing outside their walls. In the midst of the chaos, Judy steps down, Nick's curious brow tugging him after her. Those nearby watch the pair as they approach the door slowly, silencing said onlookers. She reaches for the lock on the door, just out of reach, before being hoisted up by Nick over his shoulders.

Whispering a quiet thanks, Judy nearly flinches when she finds the eyes watching them. Then the room gets progressively quieter as the rest of the room ebbs into the same curiosity.

When she turns the lock, the room becomes dead silent, and even those at the front can hear the faint noises coming from the door's minute cracks.

Nick turns the nob, and soon the briefing room is greeted with a flood of some quarrelsome bedlam, the deputies outside pointing, sneering, and shouting at each other.

"Hey!" Javan tries to shout over the crowd to no avail. He tries again, Ross even joining him, but their voices die in the crowded air.

Liz comes down with Reese, walking passed the veterans and into the foray. With him steady at her side, she finds the courage to step forward, further and further into the mess of her juniors. Irate, idealistic, doomed with a task beyond their ignorant handling, the curse of youth so heavy that she worries where it will lead.

In the center she finds Ilia, the queen bee lioness, pleading to her comrades on the other side. They won't have it, their loyalties to Ross so great and so blind that they can't see reason, unable to accept it because Creed's people are wrong _somehow_ and they're just too ignorant to believe it unless the veterans on their end see fit to agree with them.

But the veterans in the back, pressed against the briefing room by the sheer mass of bodies filling the spaces, cannot be heard from there.

Ilia tries to reason with them, taking cautious steps forward but a lion on the other side seems adamant to deny. When she reaches for his arm, taking it in her hands, he wrenches it away.

He sees the shock on her face, the sheer disbelief coloring her irises, and realizes that he can't match them, can't bear to look at them. So he tries to turn away, eyes shut tight and head downward. He tries to walk but she musters up some determination and grabs for his arm again, but his immediate response is to bare his claws and swipe at her.

The accompanied slap of his palm is what silences the room, echoing hard and long in everyone's minds as their eyes are drawn to the two.

Ilia is on the ground, face down and away from everyone else. The lion tries not to appear apologetic but his pride and his masked terror freezes him in place.

A hippo and a wolf rush to her aid. The hippo is the first to gasp when Ilia tries to pull her face up from staring into the ground, but her fear is palpable, vivid even when she turns to look up at the lion who attacked her.

There is an audible gasp when they see the blood trailing down her cheek.

The hippo barely even gets the chance to fix the lion with a glare before the wolf beside her erupts, tackling him to the ground.

A few try to pry her off him but her resistance is too great, a fury driving her claws to dig into the sides of his throat. Judy and Nick try to pull him out from beneath her, but without either side giving way, they're unable to.

The lion tries to grasp at her powerful grip but finds no purchase, dejecting to grab at her wrists instead but her position is too advantageous.

It's then that he sees it in her eyes as the wolf girl looms over him. There is a calmness to her, steady and pointed as her entire body tenses. Her howl from earlier made her sound angry, but now with her over him, he cannot find that anger, does not see that rage on her face.

Instead all he sees is wide eyes, terrifying and bulging, an intent to kill so strong that he almost lets her do it, almost believes that that gaze is judging him. And he feels he deserves it.

He nearly passes out but he has long since stopped struggling, giving in to her judgment. The bodies around them, trying to pry them apart, soon disappear…

And then he finds his breath alongside a hard slapping sound.

He gasps for air, his windpipe trying to return to its original shape. His blurred vision only manages to see Tali loom over the wolf with a look of panic to the kangaroo veteran, massaging her hand as the other girl slowly touches her own face.

The wolf winces when she feels the sting on her cheek, her breathing unsteady and quickened. Her eyes then fall to the lion, who looks at her with something other than fear. Perhaps an acceptance of death, a task she almost completed.

He was willing to die, and she was willing to suffer that request.

She backs away, meeting his eyes for only a moment longer before meeting the eyes of those around her. She bumps into a table, overturning it and its contents, the noise scaring them long enough for her to scream and make a run for it.

Tali gives chase as she runs through the door.

Nick and Judy, who fell to the floor when the lion was ripped from their grip, look at each other and the other veterans who attempted to aid them in stopping her.

They note how Tali nearly trips through the door frame as her still shaky form gives haphazard chase after the wolf, followed by a male wolf who nearly slams into the glass door.

The shock in the room soon dies down, giving way for more arguing amongst those present, the veterans trying their best to placate the crowd.

Nick takes Judy's hand as he leads her away from the madness, hurried steps that nearly stumble after him. She doesn't see his face from behind, but she can guess at the myriad of emotions he's going through, an uncertainty to it that is much like her own.

They take a familiar door that leads towards the staircase, but just as the door behind them shuts, she turns to hear the uproar file into the hallway they're in. The rancor, the sheer _noise_ , and that poisonous anger filling the room, it's enough to make her sick.

When the doors shut, the shouts become whispers.

Up the stairs, the whispers turn to silence.

And on the roof, her sobs are muted by his racing heart pressed against her forehead.

* * *

 

The long afternoon turns to evening and all An can do is watch the moon settle over the starry night sky. It is nothing like the city, where the neon lights fill the air, blotting out the stars. But here in the countryside where the luminous canvas is unperturbed, she can bask in it for all that its worth.

Which is typically not a lot to her. An actually has no love for the countryside or its simplicities, neither its mysticisms nor its fresh allure. Too quiet, too calm, but the night brings with it something else, something even a city girl like her can appreciate: the memories of a sweet young otter who cherished the night sky, her bastion in the heavens, out of reach but draped over her like a veil, crowning her with its stars, adorned by bustling galaxies swirling in the distance.

Hers was the night sky. And An's was to lay witness to that regalia.

She can still remember her tiny footfalls traipse over her backyard's wet grass, giggling as she spun with her and fell on their backs softly, eyes skyward as twilight dwindled away in the crest of the night.

Kayla would giggle, lost in the mirth of such youthful abandon. Because a girl like that, tasked with keeping a town in check, has so very few opportunities to be young.

With An and her quarry Kayla was able to set aside her duties and just be her, to bask in her limber bones that would one day stiffen with age, her flexile muscles giving way as she breathed through them as she danced with those she held most dear. A tragedy, An reminds herself, that she would never come to know what else her youth could bring, what it would give her and the world that never deserved her.

An decides to settle into the grass. When she closes her eyes and stretches her hand out to the side, she can delude herself into thinking that Kayla's little paw takes her own. And for a single moment of weakness does she giggle to herself, the faint sound of the little otter's laughter wafting into her ears.

"You know, Kay, call it selfish but… I wanted to adopt you. Just… make you mine. I loved you. Loved you real hard, almost till it hurt." She tilts her head to the side but doesn't open her eyes, a memory of Kayla matching her gaze on this very spot, at a night much like this. "Don't get me wrong, I like your folks. As far as parents go, they're pretty cool. But you…" She opens her eyes and turns them skyward. "You never seemed anything like them. You were older than you looked, age in those eyes thicker than your parents. You didn't like to think everything was going to be fine. You always dreamed up the worst case scenario and did everything you could to get away from it."

"All your folks ever did was hide in their homes and watch the world pass them by…" She thinks of Creed's domestic life that he uses to escape his past, thinks of Terence mulling over the forensics table because it makes him feel like he's actually doing something with his life, thinks of Gizelle griping about her job whilst ignoring her one true calling because she's too afraid to leave the one she has. "…just like every other person in town."

"But you never did like idle hands, didn't you? Couldn't sit still and let life pass you by. Opportunities had to be seized, the world taken by storm!" She laughs to herself, eyes half lidded as she lets it billow through her dry throat. And then she gives the stars a sad smile, solemn, hardened, gripping her heart with the sort of weight that suffocates, that chokes out sobs she stifles with what energy she manages to lift from her shaking core. "If only you did it more for yourself than everyone else…"

She clutches fists over her eyes, gritting her teeth and grunting as she forces her composure back into place. "Rargh!" she shouts into the open air, slamming her fists into the grass.

She sits herself up and shakes her head, letting it fall into her open palms. She groans for a moment before letting her hands fall with a hefty sigh.

She leaves her backyard and enters the glass door into her home.

Inside, the spaces seem closer, claustrophobic even, as she becomes more and more aware just how alone she is here. "Shoulda stayed with Cal…"

Calvary wouldn't have her at City Hall after sleeping over there for the past few arduous days. _Get your head out of work for a while. It's in yer best interest._

She scoffs, trying to feign disdain for the decision he ultimately left her with no choice for. But he was right, as he often is, she really had spent too much time working. Cause at City Hall, she could sneak into the surveillance room and watch the cams with her staff long into the night, or patrol the grounds and flinch at every sound, weapon in hand. Once even at Rocko. _Guy needs a vacation after all this._

Slowly she enters her kitchen and sees the cracks into the polished tiles and notes how each and every one of them came to be. Because in a pristine home built as a place of luxury, such cracks only occur on fresh tiles through carelessness or, in this case, via alcohol.

It was a night to remember. She had never heard Kayla swear like a sailor before then, but when she did, she certainly came out to be far less innocent than she appeared. But she was still sweet, slurring and mumbling about stupid, pointless things, then falling into someone's lap and telling them how much she loved them with the elegance of a freight train as she burps and passes out then wakes up at the slightest noise.

Terence was a reserved soul on that day, opting to stay off the drink and quit alcohol for good. An example he'd follow through behind Calvary. Of course he failed miserably when An challenged him to outdrink her. She wasn't sure if the vomit in her sink was hers or his but she promptly disposed of the plates she left behind there regardless.

Japeth, the lightweight, took his first bottle with a quiet resolve that almost appeared experienced… until the bottle met the coffee table and the quiet man turned into a flailing drunk, dragging his almost liquidized limbs along her carpeted floor like a mutated slug. Curiosity urged her to pass him another bottle, but with that he promptly passed out.

And Calvary, poor Calvary, hadn't drunk a single bottle. Sober for years on end, the man didn't so much as look at a glass. Instead, he watched with all the amusement a veteran for drink would when a bunch of lightweights tried to outdrink each other. He even has videos. Though, as amusing as it may have been for the first hour, it slowly turned chaotic via the above mentioned. And as the only one sober, he was forced to babysit.

And to think, it had gone by in a blur for everyone else. He had to live through all four hours of it and put everyone to bed.

She hadn't thought much of it at the time, but the idea that he'd slid under her covers when the night drew to a close sets a familiar blush to her cheeks. Then a brighter one when she realizes that he put both Kayla and Japeth in the same guest room. _So that's what Cal meant…_

Settling into her living room, she eyes the growing collection of firearms lining her walls and the security cameras watching her quietly. It was a measly collection when it began, but she has always been proud of it.

The old musket came from a garage sale, sold by an old goat who didn't know the value of antiquity. The LMG was custom built for her by an Italian gunsmith who owed her a favor. The Mare's Leg is— _wait, where is it?_

She hurries over to its mount but it's nowhere to be found, eyes frantically looking around it for any sign of the prized weapon.

She panics for only a moment before taking several deep breaths, giving herself time to think.

Few people come to mind when she thinks about who might have taken it. Some members of the Hunting Club like to borrow her things but never without permission. Marshal Hector only has an admiration for them, like a gunsmith would, but not that of a marksman. The sheriff's department looked into it not so — _Wait, what the fuck? Do they still have it?_

She pulls up her phone and sets her speed dial. She sets it to video call and watches the screen with anxious contempt. "Terry, where's my Mare's Leg?"

Terence on the other end is in the forensics room looking into… something, but he's so busy with his work that he doesn't even bother to look at her. "Never looked into your guns, An. They were clean," he replies with disinterest. He seems drained for some reason and she almost makes to comment on it but brushes it aside.

She's frustrated and a little panicked. She is meant to relax and calm her nerves and this isn't helping at all. She shakes her head, her anxiety bubbling forth over everything else. "Then why the fuck isn't it on my wall? You _know_ I'd never take her off it!"

He raises a brow, finally turning to look at her on the screen. _Her? Ah, forget it._ "Annie, calm the fuck down. I'll help you look for it. It isn't like I'm doing anything important anyway. I'll swing by in a minute and we can sort it out, alright?"

She huffs in annoyance but more at her misfortune than anything else.

"Alright, fine, I'll—" A knock at the door. "Someone's here, Terry, hold up."

She ambles into her hallway that leads to her front door but she doesn't approach it. Instead she stops by a table built into the wall with a plastic cactus on it where she leaves her phone. A small picture frame with a house on it hangs over the cactus and she flips the frame up like a lid, revealing the tiny screen behind it which lights up a moment later.

The screen shows an angled, overhead look of two deputies standing side by side at her door. One is a lithe cross fox who looks almost too young to be in uniform. His partner is a particularly burly striped hyena, eyes darting about as if looking for something – perhaps the camera – before giving up then knocking on the door again. "Miss Hunt!" the hyena calls over the door.

She presses a finger down one of the cactus's arm, buzzing the speaker on its head to life. "Alright, Barley, is it?" The hyena nods. "And…?"

"Landon, Miss Hunt," the fox answers.

"Right, so what do you boys want?"

They spare a glance at each other, and then the fox nearly turns to look behind him but the hyena smacks his shoulder to stop him. _Okay, that's curious._

Their attention returns to the door, the fox coughing, clearing his throat. "We just have a few questions we'd like you to answer."

A moment passes between them and An just rolls her eyes. "Well? Ask 'em then."

"We'd much rather do it at the station," the suddenly very anxious Barley answers, shifting uncomfortably. "Would you mind coming with us?"

She knows where this is going and doesn't like it. "Sorry guys, but I'm not going anywhere without a warrant."

"A warrant?" Terrence whispers loudly over the phone. "What the hell is going on?"

An releases the speaker to respond to him, but then the two men stand aside as Rostetler Rundi steps in between them, in full view of the camera. "Perhaps, then, Miss Hunt, you'd join us if I told you about some rather incriminating evidence." His voice is even, natural and it irks her to no end, gritting her teeth visibly, furthering Terence's concern.

She presses on the cactus once more. "You can't prove anything, Ross, so fuck off!" She's seething, eyes baring down at the man on the screen, causing her to snarl. Terence himself waits patiently, tension building in his own muscles as he watches her heave steady, heated breaths.

"Oh, I'm afraid I can. You see, we looked into your Mare's Leg, you remember that one, right? Well we've noted some particular markings along the interior of the barrel and, contrary to your statement on the report, it's clear that the weapon was used."

" _He tampered with it…"_ were An and Terence's immediate thoughts. But he is in an advantageous position.

Ross gestures for either deputy to go circle the home, going in opposite directions with their weapons out. He eyes the deputies slowly, and once they're out of sight, his expression turns smug as he looks up, straight at the camera.

Her eyes widen, a moment of panic so palpable that she almost gasps audibly in the mic. Steeling herself, she fixes him with a hard look. _You piece o' shit…_

"The fuck do you want, Rundi?" she snarls into the mic which only widens his smirk.

"Just your cooperation, Miss Hunt. This doesn't need to get ugly."

"No way in hell I'm playing into your plans, nutjob!"

"Annie," Terence says over the phone, "I'm coming over. Whatever you do, don't open that door." He rushes out of his seat and sprints out of the room.

An's eye draws away from the phone and looks at Ross pressing a finger to his ear. _An earpiece…_

She knows the doors are locked, and even the windows are secured. They won't be able to get in but she can't stay here. Ross is strong, she knows that, and he'll kick down the door if he needs to. She can fight him off too but that raises its own problems.

"Way I see it, Miss Hunt, you have two options: This can go peacefully, you can join us at the station and we can talk. This way things don't need to get rough and we don't need to disturb the neighborhood. The alternative is that you force our hand and we come barging in, but then the neighbors hear it, and then Calvary hears and causes him a heap of trouble." He leans towards the camera, the cheeky grin telling her he's got her pegged. "Either way, you're coming with us."

"An, he doesn't have grounds to arrest you. He's got no leverage!" Terence tries to tell her over the phone but she doesn't hear him.

An is trapped in her own home, and Ross is only a kick away from getting in and taking her by force. The lack of a warrant comes back to her but he's technically sheriff and isn't sure how that proceeding even works! She just saw it in a damn show somewhere. An doesn't want to take her chances, the tension building up inside her.

She's terrified but excited, angry but somber, nervous but oh so incredibly alive. And the idea of what she's about to do does everything to quicken her heart. Finally she finds a grin that can match his. _Not gonna catch me, asshole!_

Terence doesn't know if An could hear him so he speeds up, the rev of his car pouring out of An's phone and filling the hallway.

An walks to the door and unlocks it with an audible click, then she walks down to the other end of the hallway and gets down on all fours. She watches Ross curious gaze lock onto the door knob.

He looks about, his stoicism gone as the man with all the uncertainty that is unfamiliar to him reaches for the nob with enough caution to make him nervous.

When he takes the nob, her body tenses.

When he turns it, she sprints.

When the door slowly opens, she shoulders it with a side check, opening it fully.

When Ross gasps, her elbow grounds him as she bounds passed him.

She takes her sprint down the street and away from her home. She needs to hide, find a place where he can't get her, maybe find Creed or Calvary who can stop him before he finds some loophole that can keep her locked up. She needs to find safety.

There is a sense of triumph when she finds the boom gate in the distance leading out of the rich neighborhood and into the rest of Stable Village.

She notices that the guard is suspiciously absent but doesn't bother with it for much longer when she hears furious steps behind her.

Ross has also broken into a sprint, on all fours just like her, his lithe form like a shadow bursting through the streetlamps. He's after her, but she won't let him get her. She would have been terrified were it not for the delicious anger burning into his features.

She wants to spite him more.

Up ahead she can see that the boom gate is lowered and decides to have a little fun with it.

She turns to see that Ross isn't making enough progress to catch her. Running like this might have been in his skillset but she's trained herself to use it since she hit puberty. But her plan won't work if he's lagging behind. So she slows down, carefully watching him as he steadily gains on her. Never enough to catch her but enough to get dangerously close.

With a smirk sliding from cheek to cheek, she leaps onto the boom gate then tuck and rolls off of it to land in a crouch just in front of it.

As expected, Ross leaps over the boom gate to pounce at her, but she jumps from her crouch with a ready round house that tosses him out of the air. Ross slides to the side, skidding along the pavement. She felt his face dug into her claws, a sign of the successful strike.

When he gets up slowly, she can see the tiny streak of blood trickle down the side of his face in droplets. _That'll teach you to mess with me._

What's more, he looks defeated, adding icing to the cake. With a grin she makes to sprint off.

But then a siren catches her attention, emerging from the road she made to bolt through. She quickly falls back, narrowly dodging the vehicle as it skids before her. In an instant the doors fly open, Landon and Barley slipping out of it, weapons at the ready.

She can't outrun bullets, especially not this close. Even if Landon might be the worst shot in the world, she's seen Barley shoot. He's good enough to wing her on purpose.

She raises her hands in surrender.

Ross takes her by the collar from behind, pushing her into the car's backseat, cuffs quickly over her dropped wrists. She almost makes to attack him again but he isn't worth the continued trouble.

"You're a pain in the ass," he comments.

"The feeling's mutual."

Ross doesn't join them as he walks off into the neighborhood to find his own car.

They have her but she knows it's only temporary. She's certain her innocence won't keep her with them for very long. But in the very least, she finds some twisted satisfaction in the way Ross walks off seething, mirroring her own anger, lashed out at him with a few cuts to his face for good measure.

In a way she feels like she's won. A sour victory, but it's hers.

"An?" the hyena on the driver's seat calls to her.

"What is it, Barley? Don't start apologizing to me now, it won't work. We're enemies for as long as you work for him of all people."

"It isn't that," he replies cautiously. She looks at the rearview mirror to find his eyes and what she finds bothers her: fear. He looks terrified of her, but not in the way that would have left her smug for an impressive show.

Suddenly she's very worried herself. "What is it?"

"I've… you just never looked so sadistic before…"

Clarity fills her with a vivid dread that mirrors everyone else's in that car. She wanted to hurt Ross, wanted it so much that it drove her every decision when she unlocked that door. It wasn't enough that she already decked the guy, and it wasn't enough that she could easily have gotten away from him.

She had decided to further his pain. It wasn't enough that the kick alone would have easily knocked him aside. No, she wanted to draw blood and stuck out her lower claws to do so. And when it all worked out the way she planned, she loved it, _reveled_ in it.

She cut into his face and felt no remorse for a tormented madman because she hated him, right down to his core.

An shudders at the thought, that she could get so carried away. And it's clear that the other two share in that torment. As afraid of her as she is of herself.

And before the car goes completely silent for the remainder of the ride, Landon makes a final comment, one he could have only said by staring hard through the window, trying to forget she's in the same car. It would have insulted her were it not so hauntingly true.

" _Everyone's going crazy."_

* * *

Nick and Judy have been filing through papers for hours in their hotel room. They've spent the entire day going through evidences and theories, new angles and potential suspects. But nothing adds up well enough to be certain.

They pick scribbled notes and printed evidences over and over again, looking through the same papers so often that they swear they might as well have committed them all to memory.

Smith, for all his kindness and relatively easy-going personality, he could have just been an incredible actor, lying through his teeth so his demeanor can draw eyes away from him. _But Smith wasn't a violent man despite loving firearms. He never had the stomach for even killing gators, let alone people. The man could level a shotgun at a thief at his store but he'd never shoot._

Creed is a man with a sketchy past whose story of redemption echoes throughout his latter years in life. But if he were the killer, it all could very well just be a desire to feel young again, to seize the hand of death to feel alive. _Or an old man who genuinely wants to live a peaceful life for once._

Calvary is a stoic man with so much influence in the town that he could secretly have an entire network of accomplices toiling at the town to stir fear so he can stay in office as the only man who can keep things in order. _Unless he's the genuine article, as haunted and tormented by Carrion's presence as the rest of the townsfolk but is also the only one with the mind to keep it in order._

The Hectors are hardy and incredibly able, who can move through the town without suspicion because they make deliveries every once in a while. Marshal himself, though recluse to some degree, is steadily becoming a much more capable man than his father at his age. Marcus himself is the leader of the hunting club who knows the swamp's ins and outs, which is where the bodies might be hidden. _Maybe they're just bakers who do their job very seriously so the town can expect their baked goods on time so they'll be happy to order more. Hell, the map they found at the bunker could very well have been planted to blame them if not Creed and his mysterious involvement with the swamp._

Terence Kaenid is an up and coming senior deputy with enough forensics knowledge to cover a trail as well as identify it. He even has the stamina and steady aim of a capable killer… _or a deputy, or an officer, or a sheriff, you know, many of the other things a cop like him could be going for. He's also too close to the forensics evidence that incriminates Carrion. If he actually is the killer, then insisting on improved forensics equipment was probably a poor decision even for a cover._

Liandra Hunt is a capable woman with infallible loyalties in City Hall's security staff that she could shoot them in the foot and they'd thank her for it. With that much pull and access to the town records, she could have very well secured a base of operations in an unknown area for killing and kept it hush-hush amongst her accomplices. _Or she's a crazy, horny, wolf with a pension for vengeance over the death of her spiritual daughter._

Rostetler Rundi is the cunning and nefarious pseudo-sheriff with a sinister smile. With a record as brimming as his – tacked with accomplishments worthy of a hero – he could very well have been Carrion the entire time and everything from his wife's death down to his coup might just be a game to him as a professional killer. _And yet he could still be a man tormented by his wife's death, going utterly mad at the idea of having lost her to the point of accusing the first maybe-criminal he saw just to give himself some semblance of clarity for his end goal._

Even little Gizelle Ripple, with some apparent talent in computers (showcased by fixing the computers at the asylum with little to no trouble) that she could have used to hack the cameras at the station to play the loops. She could have also used her fame and feminine wiles to garner the loyalty of some of the locals to help her in her b-movie plot twist of a killing spree. _Or she's just a quirky reporter who happens to know a thing or two about fixing computers via a quick Zoogle search._

Not to mention a veritable plethora of other suspects who range from that Italian skunk who owns the restaurant with a killer's bunker in the basement down to the practically invisible wallaby janitor at City Hall. Bucky the gun shop owner, Miss Avery the florist with war hero husband, Meridith Mellivora the insufferable princess, Liz Waterdale the meek little otter deputy. Names upon names, suspects upon suspects, all of which could very well have the same stretch of a theory motivation and schemes to somehow be Carrion. A metaphorical dump truck of crackpot theories and fractions of maybe-truths, and they're trying to piece this mess together. It'd take a madman to sort it all out into something coherent if they even decide to consider these crazy angles.

Hell, if they're feeling extra looney, they could just outright accuse the _ **entire town**_ of being Carrion and everyone else are just pawns in this madcap game of Guess Who.

With a final huff, Nick stands up and groans as he stretches his tense limbs. "Want a drink, Carrots?" he asks her as he rises and ambles over to the mini fridge.

She doesn't even look at him as she drops her papers and groans, her back falling onto the foot of the sofa. "As long as it's not water."

"Ooh! Feeling adventurous, are we?" he teases, as he pulls out a pair of beers, closing the tiny box with his foot.

She laughs as she pulls herself up onto the sofa as he plops into the seat beside her. "Consider it an appeal to our mutual disdain. I know for a fact that you want one just as bad as I do."

"Really? Is it in my eyes?" he flirts, fluttering his lashes at her as she falls back into the armrest, raising a brow at him before growing a lopsided smirk at him that, as he'll never admit, is incredibly sexy to him. It is accented with the beer he hands her, which she swigs readily. Cute and rough around the edges, a woman who is so utterly honest on the surface about what she is underneath.

"Perhaps it _is_ in your eyes," she winks, ringing the bottle in her hand. "They actually seem rather predatory. I hope this doesn't mean you intend to take advantage of me when I'm at my most vulnerable."

She makes a show of appearing meek, to which he readily scoffs at. "Carrots, you'd throttle me if I tried, drunk or otherwise."

"I would, but not for the reasons you're suggesting." Her sultry grin is enough to make him sweat, but he shrugs it off.

For some reason, he isn't quite in the mood to do all the flirting. Something else creases his lips, urging him for something other than a playful display. Perhaps something more casual.

"Hey, Judes, you ever slept with anyone before?"

The question surprises her, being so incredibly out of the blue, but then she grasps at her own clarity, shaking her head. "Me? Oh, jeez, Nick, I don't act like a virgin, do I?" She winces, seriously considering whatever evaluation he might have.

He only utters an amused noise. "No, I guess I phrased that wrong. What I meant to ask was: what was your first time like?"

She mulls over the thought, resting her head flat onto the armrest as she lets the cold drink roll in her hand. "Hm… terrifying, exciting, a little crazy. I hardly remember, really, but that's all I can gather from it. It never really made me want more of it, just that it satisfied a curiosity." She takes another swig as she looks him over. "What about you?"

"Hm… disappointing, I guess?" He shrugs, another drink following after.

His answer surprises her, even worries her, shooting up so quickly that she almost spills her drink onto the sofa. "What? Why is that?"

Nick is more than just a little embarrassed at the idea of letting this one out but the moment of hesitation vanishes when he looks at her from his end of the sofa. She's leaning onto the cushions, almost making to crawl over to him. _Ever the worrywart._

He doesn't look at her when he speaks, electing to not make eye contact for the duration of the story. "Well it was my first time so I figured I could last longer if I already relieved myself first. Sad part was, by the time we got to doing it, turns out little Nicky down here decided it was already too tired to go for another round after I took care of myself."

He finds that all the concern in her eyes has vanished as the little bunny across from him gives him an amused smile instead. "Pfft! Little Nicky?"

"Really, Carrots? I relay the embarrassing tale of my first time to you and all you choose to comment on is my terminology?"

"Sorry, sorry, but I've always found it silly when men name their phalluses."

"Sounds like you've known quite a few." He smirks suggestively.

"Not like that ya' big perv!" She laughs at it, the tiniest twinge of a blush coloring her features. "I just so happened to catch my brothers talking about it in private pretty frequently. Big home, giant family meant thin walls." His ears shoot up with him, noting how embarrassing that was to admit. Were anyone else with her, she would have buried her face in her ears.

"That entire sentence sounds embarrassing for a number of reasons," he chuckles at her.

"Tell me about it…" She waves her hand dismissively, changing the topic. "So how did she take it? Your first partner, I mean."

"Oh she was fine. She got off it anyway and I pretended that I did too. It wasn't spectacular and I walked away from it a little disappointed but it wasn't like it was going to be my last." He could recount the many other conquests he had but such self-servient conversation is better left with someone he would actually be trying to impress. With Judy, he honestly has nothing to prove.

She makes an affirmative noise through her bottle, drinking it down till it's nearly half gone. She lets her mind wander then, considering her choices up until this point.

The fox across from her is only in a sleeveless shirt and his boxers, and she is no less exposed herself, albeit in his shorts for the nth time. His presence is so very easy around her, and so incredibly casual that she can't help but feel like she's breaking some social rules by not dating the guy at this point, or at least sleeping with him.

She amuses herself by considering how her friends and family would look at this scene. Clawhauser would have a fit if he could see them now. But really, this isn't unlike anything they'd normally do on a lazy Saturday night.

She then eyes him up and down, wondering how him as a cub might have looked and might have acted. Certainly he was still confident and incredibly sly, but he might have been ignorant and cocky as children tend to be. Was he always this handsome or did puberty treat him poorly? Did his voice crack when he laughed? Did he ever get an embarrassing bald spot somewhere on his fur?

Judy delights herself with these thoughts because she knows Nick stopped being a typical fox when he started conning at twelve. But the idea that he might still have been some juvenile teenager reveling in the throes of youth like the rest of animalkind, whining and moaning about the unfairness of not being allowed to stay up late is nothing short of entertaining.

Nick on the other hand does not have the leisure of these thoughts for her. Unlike Nick, Judy has nothing to hide about her childhood, nor is it tarnished by pointless shenanigans typical amongst those in their formative years. As a kit she was studious and confident, an exemplary sort the burrows would have cherished like a rare gem had her dreams not lied elsewhere. She was a driven kit and not much else. She did her homework, attended prom, graduated, then went straight to the academy.

Her sex life was none too exciting either. She had only ever done it a few times in her life and, if he's remembering it correctly, has never actually had to worry about going in heat cause she always has medication for them at the ready. _Wouldn't it be fun to let go of that sometime._

Judy then considers Nick's sexual partners, and wonders if they were all vixens. And then a cheeky thought colors her cheeks for only a moment, biting a finger as she giggles to herself. Then the smirk fades away when she regards the fox with some serious consideration.

Then she takes another drink.

"You know," she says finally, "we should give it a shot sometime."

Perhaps it's the atmosphere, or maybe cause he feels like he doesn't need flirting to get through the night with his sanity intact, but he surprises himself nonetheless by again not wanting to be coy with her. "Carrots, you shouldn't—" Then he finds her neutral stare, nothing hiding behind her lavender irises. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Yeah, I am. I mean, I trust you and it's not like it wouldn't be fun." She is nonchalant about it but is visibly trying not to look any more flustered at the suggestion. She isn't even entirely sure why she brought it up in the first place but is relieved to see that it doesn't really bother him.

He shrugs casually, delighting in the ease of it all. "Yeah, I guess it would be fun."

The difference between this and flirting is that none of the reactions are planned or urged out. They aren't fishing for embarrassment out of their partner or gunning for their expected banter. It's just _this,_ a quiet moment without rules or society's norms getting in the way. Just them being them, doing and saying what they want. And it's easy behind closed doors where the world can't watch them and be vocal about all the conventional instigations. Where they can admire the other's beauty or other admirable qualities and not be called out for _flirting._

It's a safety net to be in each other's lonesome company, a comfort to be like this and not have it mean anything else. And to this they find a quiet rapport unlike any other, to which they decide to toast for.

Their glasses clink together in unspoken cheers as the night draws on, lost in the mirth of drink and pleasant conversation, far away from the rest of the world.

* * *

 

But the woes of the night drag on.

Terence's relationship with Calvary Pride is, at best, indifferent. Because the only thing they have in common is An. And yet it happens to be enough of a reason for the two to storm into the station, scaring onlookers as they make their way to the courtyard.

Calvary struggles to maintain his composure but the utter betrayal on his person leaves him far too livid to remain stoic. The rigid stone his face has become might have worried him, what with all the looks he's getting, but the woman he is almost certain that he loves has been taken away, and the idea that she's trapped in a cell infuriates him further.

Terence on the other hand has no need for any kind of restraint. His fury is unkempt, brimming off his frayed edges, his fur, some matted mess that is mixed with his sweat, panic, and malign.

The door to the back opens in a wide swing as Calvary pushes it open, his steady gait announcing him to Javan who is smoking as he leans against one of the parked cars there.

"Where's Ross?" Terence asks the rhino sternly who fixes them with a steadfast yet cautionary gaze.

He crosses his arms. "And what do you two intend to do with him?"

"Does it even matter?" The spite and impatience in Terence's voice is evident, doing nothing to diffuse the situation or garner Javan's sympathies.

"Don't get pissy with me, kid. An attitude like that spells of nothing but trouble, and I'm not about to make myself accessory to your recklessness just so you can have a crack at the guy." Despite the tension, Javan is still trying to keep his cool. And they both could have appreciated such control were it not in their way.

But Calvary, as charismatic as he is, places a steady hand on the large man's shoulder and fixes him with steady eye contact. "I implore that you do anyway." The incredulous look on Javan's face might have signaled an end to the conversation were his attention not so captivated by Calvary's gravitas, a stare to him that can only belong to a man with purpose and unquestionable intent. "I'm not about to assert my authority, cause my station means _nuthin'_ in the face o' your morals, and believe me when I say that I understand that. But I must appeal to you that our own morals suggest that we not idly stand by as someone so pertinent in our lives is taken away." Calvary's hand slips away, sizing himself up before the rhino with the same look, but with a hint of pleading in his eyes. "So I ask again for our sakes, where is he?"

Javan would have done the same were it him and not them, but that does not make what they're doing right. With a glance away, considering his options, he turns back to them with a sickness on his tongue. Just about ready to give in but not liking it one bit. "It won't fix anything," he says with a heavy tone, almost pleading them to back off Ross.

"We're well aware," Terence answers, his tone softened but hardy, pained yet determined. "But we can't do _nothing._ "

With a hefty sigh, he backs away, pointing at the communications tower overlooking the courtyard, the lights on with a distinct silhouette leaning against the glass. "He's up there."

When they march out of his sights, he looks at the fresh cigarette in hand and tosses it aside, deciding that he'll need something much stronger for tonight.

The trek up the stairs and Javan's caution nearly dissipates the abject fury in Terence, and he almost considers stopping right there and then, before the last landing as he stares up at the door in view. But a few steps onward, he sees Ross's expressionless face staring into a mug and suddenly Terence's resolve to beat the shit out of him returns.

The door slams open, Terence taking the lead as he slams his palms on the table before Ross. "What the actual _fuck_ , Ross!?"

Ross looks up at them with a steely gaze, a wide bandage covering his cheek where An's claw had dug into his skin. But it doesn't deter them. To them, it's well deserved.

"I'm not one to be so crass, Rundi, but you've managed to earn my ire," Calvary says steadily, the twitch in his eye violent as he stifles himself but does a poor job of it in the face of the man in question. "I thought we were workin' _together_ , I thought we had an _understandin'_! And then I hear you up and stab me in the fuckin' back!"

Ross stands up eying Terence with the same irate glare. "The evidence was there, brought to me by _your_ people!"

Terence swings his arms apart, disbelief scoffing at Ross. "It could have been planted! Or an error, or something _harmless!_ You didn't have to up and arrest her! _**Fuck,**_ Ross, if you hated the idea that she clawed your face, then you could have just socked her in the face! But _this_ shit, _right here,_ is taking it way too far."

"And what would you have me do!? Ignore evidence on a whim just because it would upset you? How utterly childish of you, Kaenid."

Terence twitches only one more time before he loses all composure and pounces at the man. Calvary can do nothing as Kaenid's fist collides with Ross's injured cheek, perhaps reopening the wound as the puma screams in pain and falls to the floor.

The bandage only bloodies further as Calvary restrains Terence, placating him quickly. The wolf appears to delight in the way Ross flinches as he touches his bandage, the dampness sinking into the tentative paw fur. Ross only fixes Terence with a narrow gaze as he dusts himself off.

"She's unlikely, Ross," Calvary adds, staring him down, "everyone knows that. She was accounted for at the ball, she doesn't operate on subtlety, a thousand and one things that tell everyone in town that it can't possibly be her. No, it's clear you're doin' this out of spite." Calvary's words are poisonous, reducing his opinion of Ross as nothing but a petulant child lashing out at everyone around him.

But that isn't what gets at Ross, that isn't what clenches his paws into fists. Not even the reopened wound on his cheek bothers him too much. But his face twists in agitation, a roar boiling out of his heated throat. "Spite? You two think this is about _**spite!?**_ I don't give a shit that she clawed at my face! I've had rebar stuck through my gut! A facial scar is _nothing!_ "

Terence rights himself, crossing his arms at the vexed puma. "Then what _is_ it about!?"

"What it's always been about: _Carrion._ " They almost don't believe him, but the look in his eyes, the even tone, and his tense form are tells of a man who means what he says. For a brief moment they consider that he might be suggesting that An is Carrion, but it becomes apparent to them that it means something more.

"Creed said to consider every possibility because he knew that hard choices need to be made," Ross continues. "And unlike those before us, I will not delude myself by ignoring the possibilities."

Calvary narrows his glance at him, hateful tensions still rising. "And yet by that definition, you've readily ignored the possibility of her innocence."

"I haven't, I can assure you that. But if there was even a sliver of chance that she might at least be involved, then I have to take that plunge."

"That's a stretch, Ross," Calvary counters, shaking his head. "You're graspin' at strings with that."

"And waiting for something solid to fall into our laps is a pipedream, and you know it." Ross huffs, the cracks in his features rolling down his displaced fur, a pitying loo to him that seems nothing like the malign man they came in here to chastise.

Ross doesn't look at them as he turns to the mug set behind him, eye twitching at the cold coffee still sitting inside. "I understand that the evidence might have been planted," he says, "and I understand that Liandra attacking me might have been nothing but spite, but it doesn't mean I should have done _nothing_ when the evidence against her was presented to me." Ross's words echo their talk with Javan, and a twinge of hypocrisy settles in Terence's gut, but it doesn't stifle the hate, his muscles still tense as he carefully examines the puma before him.

Ross walks over to the window, watching the town stretch out into the distance, the Horace Memorial gleaming in the moonlight, and City Hall behind glistening with its polished wood finish. "This town is way too impressionable… Don't you two understand that that's why Carrion picked Bronc Town in the first place? Everyone here was so caught up in the delirium of a quiet country utopia that we were suspended in disbelief at the mere thought of one of us being a serial killer." He laughs painfully, dejecting, aching. "The ignorant idealism that it couldn't _possibly_ be one of our own is the very reason why the ZPD wasn't getting anywhere either."

He turns back to them, a tortured stare falling onto the pair as the man takes a heavy step forth as he grits his teeth. "That's why they picked the three worst people the town had to offer. A criminal informant, an ex-mafia," he gestures to Calvary, "and the _town drunk._ "

Calvary flinches but cannot find it in himself to refute the claim… because it's true. Back then they accused him just because he wasn't a likeable person. And he knew that, and abused that idea by playing games with the ZPD just to get a rise out of them. He toyed with them, again and again, all to hide the crippling idea that the town he hoped would put up with him was ready to throw him to the fire for even the tiniest inkling of some peace of mind.

"Everyone wanted it to be at least one of you," Ross continues shaking. clenching his eyes shut with the bitter thought, "cause you were all the easiest to hate, the easiest to accept as Carrion. But that's the very reason why they ended up with dead ends, chasing their own _fucking_ tails trying to crack a case without any of the direction they so gravely needed."

Terence would have taken offense but he isn't wrong. It makes so much sense that the ZPD might have been swept up in the town's idealism, that the appeal that it wasn't any of the nice ones was a prospect so tempting that they took it with serious consideration.

Because the town is, was, and will continue to be inviting and wholesome, known for its hospitality and its captivating natural flora in and around it. In a place like this, even the very idea of pointing the finger on someone is in itself frowned upon, which is a terrifying thing when you consider that they're trying to stop a murderer.

And Ross, who has lost everything to this ignorance, sees it for what it is. And that pain, so vivid and palpable, has driven his every action. It's then that Terence sees it, and perhaps might have pitied it. Calvary on the other hand is unreadable, his expression straight and focused, but no less struggling.

Ross makes his way passed them as their eyes still lock onto him. Words escape them but they still edge at their lips. They're here to rile him up, to endear some sense of their own justice, righting a wrong done to them no matter how selfish it might appear. But again, such blind ignorance is what put them there in the first place.

And such ignorance cost people their lives.

Ross's own fury boils upwards, flooding his senses enough to make him feel lightheaded. He wants to snap at them, to erupt and exact his reactions but he stifles the poison on his tongue, stays his hand and walks to the door. But before he leaves, he turns back to them, not even bothering to see their faces and what expressions they might be making. "We'll never catch Carrion this way. So I am done subscribing to this ignorant mysticism. I am done being desensitized by the town's idealistic fantasies about a _fucking_ serial killer… Because like it or not, in all likelihood, Carrion could very well be the person we trust the most. And if we can't accept that, someone else is going to die."

Ross slams the door shut, leaving the two alone.

Terence is unsure of what to make of it but he knows he still hates Ross's guts. The scowl on his face almost looks plastered had his eyes not drifted to Calvary.

The once proud mayor stands silently, perhaps a little cross still but yet so overwhelming sullen that he can do nothing but stare at the floor and be lost in his thoughts.

"Calvary?" Terence asks, drawing him out of his stupor.

"I… I think I need to lie down." Calvary makes to leave the room in a hurry, palm over his forehead as he attempts to ease whatever pains he's feeling.

Terence, in the still quiet of the room, then points his head skyward, a breath escaping him before a fitful inhale, drawing in the bitter qualms. And with this he calms his quaking heart, steadies his features, his anxieties sinking beneath the surface. Now the man far more alight, tension loosened and muscles lax.

He'll never openly admit that Ross was right, but he'd only be lying to himself if he didn't agree with him anyway. The town is naïve, and perhaps a little _too_ optimistic about the identity of Carrion, but he can't help but feel that that's why it's kept itself afloat. That idealism is a vital characteristic of the town. And it actually does no harm, because it doesn't matter what the public thinks Carrion should be.

For as long the police _don't._ Because they're not allowed to have biases or personal stakes in this. They're not supposed to get riled up because one of their friends is a potential suspect. And yet he let himself go, his emotions flaring as the stoic figure of a detective he has always wanted to be is shattered, the illusion falling off of him as he feels himself becoming vulnerable and weak.

Pride sullied, his thoughts then pull away from himself and onto An, who is perhaps the worst for wear tonight.

With an uneven huff, shivering in the cold room, he walks out to find her.

And suddenly the cool surface of the metallic staircase is evident, as is the atmosphere in the station. And when he makes it down the stairs into the basement where the cells are held, the area is both cold and lonesome.

He passes by the empty rooms, hand running through the frosted surface of the bars, tapping it with his claws, announcing himself to the only person present.

When he finally meets her, An doesn't regard him.

Her back faces him, curled in a fetal position up against the wall on the cell's bed. All he is certain of is that she isn't sleeping, not at a time like this, not in a _place_ like this.

He almost doesn't say anything but seeing her so defeated gives him every reason to stay with her. So he pulls out a monoblock chair, audibly scraping along the tiled floor, and settles into the seat.

"We talked to Ross," he manages to say, sighing at the end of it as he leans into his seat. "I'm sorry but we couldn't manage to get you out."

She shuffles in place, no do doubt trying to ebb out her frustrations silently as she clutches whatever it is she's managed to grab hold of in there. "It's okay, Annie, we'll figure something out."

He expects a groan or a mutter, some banter and whatnot, but none come. He thinks she's probably just tired, too tired for conversation or maybe she _has_ managed to sleep, but it just doesn't feel right to him. Like it's out of place for her to stay quiet or sleep so early in the night, especially in a jail cell. Something else is wrong with her and his gut wrenches when he realizes how powerless he is to help her. Sure he could always steal the key but that will only stack problems in Ross's favor.

In fact, An isn't actually being detained for being a suspect. No, it's everything else that happened after being accused of such. She resisted arrest, assaulted an officer, clawed through his face even! She was lucky she wasn't immediately transferred to the correctional facility in Zootopia. And Ross could have easily just sent her there, and yet here she is, put on display to toy with them.

 _He planned this. Maybe not the scar, but he knew she'd resist arrest._ That alone is enough to keep her here, but the scar tells a graver story, one that he can use against her. An is only here as leverage against them, and that irate hypocrisy masked under the guise of practical police work is only furtherance to his frustrations.

His fingers curl into fists, stifling his anger. A rage to him billows beneath the surface, ebbing over the pinpricks of his frizzled fur. He wants it to claim him, surge his legs with the strength to tackle Ross and finish what his aching fist started. He wants to hurt him, punish him for his arrogance and for challenging him, and all the rest.

 _Then he hears her fitful sobs,_ filling the empty spaces in an echo so derelict that it quells his fury almost instantly _._ "Annie?"

"He's already won, Terry." Her voice is coarse, drudging along choked back sobs and weighted torments so heavy that he can feel them radiating off of her.

He takes the bars in his fists, clutching it so hard his injured knuckles that struck against Ross's face begin to stretch and ache. "No, he hasn't," he tells her, almost like a plead. "We'll get back at him, I swear."

She gets up, and wraps her arms around her knees, tugging them into her chest. It's then that he sees the dark red circles around her eyes, borne from more than tears. "I don't mean Ross…"

"Then what—"

"I wanted to hurt him, Terry," she blurts out, gritting her teeth as she struggles to not keep crying. "And when I did, when I cut through his face… I enjoyed it. I relished in the horrified look on his face…" She looks up at him, almost afraid to meet his eyes but she pushes on, trying to get the message through, trying to tell her best friend about what's eating her up inside. "Terry, I've never felt so much like a monster before in my life."

Terence can't find the words to comfort her but what do you say in a situation like this? What could he possibly say that could help her?

Slowly his head drops, eyes straying away as words continue to escape him.

"I don't know who I am anymore…" she mutters into her knees.

And in that moment he sees the bruising on his knuckle, where he'd struck Ross clear across his bandaged wound. It's only now does he realize that he was _aiming_ for it. He doesn't remember if Ross falling to the floor came with a meaty thud or not but it was what he was hoping for. But these thoughts, baleful, malign, aren't part of who he is.

" _No,"_ he thinks, " _it_ was _me._ "

Earlier on in his life he was a different man. Cocky, self-centered, a man who talked with his fists, and ended conversations with a black eye on the other end. That same man met An when she was a bouncer, and back then they were both pretty fucked up.

Bronc Town changed that, it gave them a clean slate, a fresh start, to opt for something meaningful instead of a cold beer every night and a naked body every morning.

He thinks that he left that life behind, that it was so far away that he could hardly even remember it… but that's pretty naïve, isn't it? She came to town by Calvary's request and he'd tagged along. The change was sudden, immediate, opportunity thrust upon them on some erstwhile morning in the middle of autumn. He'd buried his pistol, and she destroyed hers, a sign that they've moved on, that life can begin anew.

And yet here, in this dark basement in the middle of the countryside, so far away from Zootopia that it might have even felt like a fever dream, the familiar feel of a bruised hand and bloodied claws, of violence and rage and hate, come crashing back.

Suddenly he feels sick, like a terrible wreck, a sickness to him that forces him to his knees. His knuckle digs into his palm, pressing it against his face to dispel the familiar sensation.

And with a sullen sob of his own, Terence wonders if he even knows who he is anymore.

* * *

 

The garage door shuts behind Creed as he pulls himself out of his car, groceries cradled into either arm as he makes his way inside his living room, the fresh scent of dinner wafting through the air, caressing his tired bones for the end of the day. He wishes the room wasn't so quiet though, the spaces filled with nothing but the hum of air conditioning and the quiet snoring of his quarry, Daniel Adams, with a pillow tucked beneath him.

Creed shakes the large buck, stirring him awake. "Wake up, Adam, you're supposed to be watching over my wife, not sleeping on my counter."

"Sorry, Creed," he rubs his eyes, yawning, "but your wife wouldn't let me do anything in this house. I tried to help with the cleaning and cooking but she just forced me back into my seat and gave me something to bite. I swear I've never felt so much like a slob before in my life!" The buck then realizes that the counter is empty save for the groceries Creed places on it. He could have sworn it was filled with plates and a glass or two but Mona probably cleaned it already and gave him a pillow to rest on.

_Saint of a woman, she is._

Creed raises a skeptical brow at him. "I sincerely hope you aren't this submissive at City Hall. Working security there is far more portent nowadays."

"Don't worry about it, the boss always gets us in line when we need to be." Creed can understand that An's job as City Hall's head of security might instill her lax mannerisms onto her staff but perhaps that's only because she doesn't want to be a slave driver. She's always been one to be serious at work if nothing else, and yet…

"So why on earth do you have the day off?"

"You're asking me _now?_ "

"I wasn't about to jinx my good fortune by deterring you. No one else was available for it. So out with it then, why aren't you at work?"

He scratches the back of his head. "An let me take the day off. Needed to be away from everything for a while."

"Isn't staying here, protecting my wife from Carrion of all things, counter intuitive then?"

"Nah," he pulls his head back, looking over the connected kitchen and living room through the portal, rolling his shoulders as he feels the cold air run through his fur, "I like it here. It's cozy and quaint. Never thought a man like you would settle for a place so… suburban, but, hey, you've always had a habit of surprising me."

"Hm," Creed sounds affirmatively, walking into the kitchen arch to join him on that side of the conjoined rooms. "Well try not to get too comfy. We may be friends but I enjoy my privacy here at home, away from everyone but my family."

The large buck leans his back against the counter as Creed looks through his fridge, pulling out a cold beer. "Those two officers from the ZPD an exception?"

"Who said they weren't family?"

Creed almost doesn't offer the drink to his guest, sleeping on the job being something he wouldn't normally reward, but it's good to have pleasant company. But before he reaches for a new one, a scream rips through the home, muffled by the walls and floors between them and the second floor, prompting Creed to drop the bottle, shattering against the white tiled floor.

"Mona!?" Creed gasps sprinting upstairs, Adam closely behind.

Creed's left hand instinctively bares its claws, ready to lash out, but when he reaches the upper landing and sees his wife cowering in fear against a wall, deep seeded concern fills him instead as he falls to her side, his claws no longer at the ready.

He checks for injuries but the woman is unharmed, only gasping and breathing harder than her frail body can manage. "Mona, what's wrong?" He takes her by the cheeks gently, drawing her eyes into his. "Calm down, I'm here."

She tries to speak but the words don't form, only making a muffled sob behind her plastic gloved hand as she points at the open door behind them.

Creed motions for Adam to take her as Creed enters their bathroom. Immediately he sees the red stain on the tiles behind his tub's curtain which has lost some of its rings when his wife panicked at the sight of whatever it is that's back there.

He approaches slowly, hand at the curtain which he shoves aside. He stares at the stain and reads the words made from them. He doesn't dare read it aloud, shaking his head at the sight.

"What on earth…"

Mona, still shaking, manages to whisper to Adam beside her with as much strength in her voice as she can desperately muster.

" _Whose blood is that?"_

* * *

Ross stumbles through his front door, not even bothering to lock it as he drops his uniform top on the floor. The day is a haze to him, a series of terrible tormenting things haunting his cold breath, churning his stomach as he nearly collapses onto the floor, about ready to wretch. He stifles a vomit that ebbs to his throat, hand clutching desperately over his mouth.

With a muffled garble he successfully holds back the hurl, grabbing his stomach in his paw. "This would be easier with alcohol…" he moans as he leans again the wall, sliding down it.

Eli walks through the door, medical case in hand, and spares a glance at the disheveled man beneath her with a tilted lip. She locks the door behind her with a sigh. "No, it wouldn't be easier," she comments, "in fact, you'd just leave a bigger mess for me to clean. Honestly, Ross, what were you thinking?"

Ross looks up at his wife who has been following him home. She's even driven his car, and the illusion is so deliciously real that he can almost taste it. He wants to reach out for her but can't bear to see her disappear again, so instead he keeps his hands to himself.

He thinks something is off about her, again not quite sure what that is, but it's there. But it isn't long till those thoughts vanish.

She kneels beside him. "Let me have a look at that." He, at first, doesn't know what she means, so he flinches at her approaching hands, but then she deadpans at him, stilling him instantly. She reaches again and he manages to control himself as her gentle hands take off the stained bandage off his cheek. The matted gauze and uncomfortable medical tape clinging to his fur comes off with an uncomfortable amount of black fur.

She sighs at the wound, some of the minor clot that was supposed to hold his blood in has reopened, red streaks dirtying the fur. "Just had to make this hard, didn't you, Terence?" Eli cleans the wound with alcohol, making him wince, and replaces the gauze.

Ross stares down at her as she tidies up the bandage, and it's clear to him that she's trying not to meet his eyes. It's intentional, deliberate, and so unlike her that it almost bothers him. Perhaps there's a reason for it but he doesn't care. He wants her to look at him, silently begging for those eyes to meet his.

When she finishes with the bandage she falls to his side. She looks around and spies the kitchen through the archway beside them. She seems to stare at it for a while, perhaps reminiscing about something. Then her head turns to face him, but she looks passed him, staring at the door at the end of the short hall, the door that leads to his ashen garden, mounds of burnt plant life leaving dark swaths along the foot of the doorway.

Her mind wanders then, locked onto the old wood and sweeping ash still lingering faintly about them by the meager wind wafting in from the open-air garden just beyond the door, slipping beneath it. But Ross watches her with a silent reverence, captivated by her beauty, drawn to it like a moth to a flame, dangerous, inexorably so, and yet so terribly tempting.

She gasps when the back of his hand runs down her cheek, stopping midway to feel the familiar fur roll beneath his knuckles. Eyes now transfixed on him, her hand rises to meet his. His hand in her own, she curiously runs a finger over her ring on his finger.

He's been wearing them all day since forensics gave it back. Though disappointed it yielded nothing, it was certainly nothing he wasn't expecting. So instead he revels in the fond memory of the trinket around his pinky. Her slender ring finger was as small as his little finger, and he'd even tested the size with it when he bought it. And now, here, with her eyes locked onto it, he can almost taste that memory, so close that he can feel her breath.

But she doesn't lean in, and he doesn't make a move, because he can't bring himself to accept the delusion. Because he cannot have it, and if he tries, she will vanish.

Instead he stands up and makes his way up the stairs, every step becoming increasingly more harried, weighted, slowing him, torturing him,

"Where are you going?" she calls from her position downstairs. He finds that she hasn't moved from her spot.

He tilts his head, unsure of what to do. He wants to invite her up, he wants to give in, but his willpower is strong enough to force his feet forward. And he damns them for doing so. "Going to bed," he says plainly, voice still hoarse and dry.

He doesn't dare look back, but an inkling of satisfaction lingers still when he doesn't hear her move.

Ross's hand falls onto the doorknob, turning it with a soft click, a force of habit when he used to return home late, sneaking into bed so as not to wake his wife. But when he enters, the room is expectantly empty.

With a sigh, he drops his undershirt and slips out of his pants, walking towards his cabinet for a towel, but then a soft dripping catches the puma's attention, jolting his head back as he scans the room for anything. But the room is still, and he believes that he's going crazy for a moment.

He leaves and enters his bathroom down the hall. There, he sinks into the tub, making sure his head stays above water, cleaning what he can around the bandaged wound.

Later he emerges from the bathroom and hears a rustling in the kitchen. It draws a sense of panic from him but he makes his way down the stairs, only half way, and he peers into the kitchen archway. Inside he sees Eli preparing coffee, another temptation that might draw him in. But he shakes his head, and decides to walk back up.

Once inside his room, he pulls on a fresh pair of boxers and a sleeveless shirt before plopping into bed.

From his perch he spies the clothes scattered along the floor. He wouldn't normally leave such a mess but he would take care of it when he wasn't so irate. And so he buries his face into the pillow, trying to drown out the sounds of crickets and some other familiar noise he can't quite place.

_Plop._

The sound shoots his eyes open, frantically looking about the dim room for anything suspicious, but there's nothing there. He squints his eyes through the crack in the doorway, the faint lights he didn't even bother to turn off leaking into his room.

He shakes his head and tries to sleep once more.

_Plop._

Again his head shoots up, hands sifting through the objects in his nightstand. He doesn't find the flashlight he was looking for, attempts to draw himself out of his haze to use his own night vision as he lets it adjust to the dark.

But again he finds nothing.

_Plop._

This time it falls to his face, a single wet droplet sliding down his uninjured cheek. He touches it gently, thinking it some sort of weird leak coming off his roof, but then his eyes drift upwards towards his ceiling, and the sight he barely sees confuses him. And when it starts making even an inkling of sense, it terrifies him, shooting his heart rate up as panic fills his vein and jolts his muscles into action!

He screams! Then he scrambles to his feet, footfalls stomping on the hardwood floor as he scurries towards the light switch by the door. With a quick flick, the sudden bright light of the room momentarily blinds him, but as he blinks away the flash still lingering in his tired eyes, Eli's feet scurry hurriedly up the stairs.

In the next moment she is in the room with him, looking down at the disheveled man with a look of concern. He shakes his head, unwilling to acknowledge both the writing on his ceiling and the woman before him.

_Plop._

Then she hears it too, eyes quickly jumping to the bed where the red stains begin coloring the white sheets. She glances once more at Ross who is shaking his head as he stares at the ceiling, feeling more vulnerable than he ever has before.

Eli's eyes soon follow, a tiny gasp escaping her. Her back falls into the open door and nearly falls to the ground. Ross quickly steadies her, but she doesn't utter a thanks, still transfixed onto the fresh wet writing over Ross's bed.

" _Is that… blood?"_

* * *

 

Calvary awakens early in the night, checking the clock beside his bed to find that it's only ten in the evening. He retreated home to quickly placate himself, to ease his heavy tensions with a hot shower and then it was off to bed, but an obscure dream he can't remember jolted him out of slumber.

And now he can't bring himself to go back to sleep.

He stumbles out of bed and traipses along the blurred geometric shapes of his bedroom. The place is like a studio apartment, coupled with a kitchenette around the corner.

He then meets the full body mirror lying along his wall. There he then sees his own shirtless frame, dressed only in his brown slacks; He didn't even bother to find more comfortable clothing to sleep in. His body is disproportionally thin, mismatching his fluffy mane that seems to balloon out of his body like headwear instead of actually being part of him. The muscles along his arms and chest are tight but nothing like they used to be and his abs are barely visible. But they're there, rolling over his stomach with tiny scars from broken bottles and heated nights with An in their youth.

He pushes passed the door and enters his hallway, which is suspiciously empty. "Where are the guards?" His toes curl over the comforting tickle of the carpeted floor, taking the small comfort with him as he passes through the hall.

Quickened footsteps catch his attention as a guard runs down the hall towards him. Calvary calls out to him making the goat skid. "S-sorry, sir! We're being assembled!" Then the man runs down the stairs. Calvary doesn't even manage to call out to him again before he vanishes through the front door.

He tilts his head, not quite sure what to make of it all. _Being assembled? By who? An's in jail!_

Slowly he makes his way down the stairs. He wants to find them all through the front door but his eyes drift to his right, to the ballroom, and finds that all the lights there are on.

Inside, he scans the room, rubbing his eyes to pull out the drowsiness. The ballroom appears to be empty too. "Rocko? You left the lights on!"

He treks further into the room, searching for any hint of what's going on.

The room seems clean, shining even, like it would be the night before a major event. But the festivities here were cancelled due to the investigation. It leaves to wonder who gave the order to clean it. _Maybe Rocko's just being proactive with his staff._

The only out-of-place thing here would be the ladder leaning against the wall, but that isn't unusual since they'd need it here for cleaning the chandeliers. But the room is empty save for it.

It takes Calvary a minute to recognize the open paint can sitting by the ladder. He approaches its place at the end of the room. "Now would _you_ be here?" He didn't think they'd need any repainting, especially not anything red.

_Plop._

The silence of the room is overcome by a droplet, echoing into the wide open spaces. Calvary thinks it's a faucet in the kitchen, until he hears it again, coming from behind him at the center of the room.

He looks up and sees a hint of red vandalizing his ceiling, obscured mostly by one of the many chandeliers. _What is that?_

_Plop._

Tiny red splotches dot the floor, his eyes trained on them as he tries to make sense of it. It's almost viscous, a strange texture to it that is almost black.

_Strange kind of paint there._

His askance stare is then drawn upward, and the writing only confuses him further.

There, up on the ceiling reads the words painted in bold lettering: "YOU MADE IT EASY". It's dripping still, its deep red liquid trailing droplets along the floor.

"What's that supposed to mean?" It's odd, out of place, and it comes with a lingering sense of dread he can't quite shake. He considers what it might mean, considers the worst case scenario but tries not to. He tries not to let it shock him, but he's far too unsure to know exactly _what_ he's feeling.

The door to his far right – the ante room that acts as a study of sorts – then clicks shut. He walks over to it and tries the knob, only to find that it's locked.

He then hears some rustling inside, something large being moved then propped up. He tries for the door again, but then just as his eyes lock onto the door knob beneath him, he spies wiring that slips from the crack beneath the door. He follows the wires and realizes that they're connected to the speakers at the corners of the room.

Static resounds out of them as the speakers suddenly come to life.

Then he hears a tap on a mic, some breathing following after. And without warning, suddenly the same song from this morning plays: Chopin's Nocturne.

The soft melody fills the rooms as he takes some steps back from the door towards the center, scanning the room for anything that will make sense of what's going on. Some semblance of panic creeps into his features, but it is overcome by the sheer amount of confusion as his mind continues to refuse acknowledging it for what I might mean.

_Plop._

The droplet falls to his head, making him blink. His hand reaches up to touch the liquid, bringing it before him. It's then that he realizes that the material isn't sticking or staining as hard as it should be. It almost seems more consistent with water, cause most paint doesn't act like that, at least not the ones they use here.

A memory of a late night at the Rogue Gallery reminds him of the time he was clocked on the head with a bottle, prompting him to bleed from the wound.

And in that instance, all at once, the familiar smell, the texture, right down to the color, dawns a grave thought to him. His eyes go wide, quivering in horror. "This isn't paint…"

His eyes then rise to meet the locked door, and now he realizes who's behind it.

"Carrion?" he whispers first.

Then his heart races, summoning a bottled fury that does nothing to steady his bated breathing, an obscure contrast to the music.

" _ **Carrion!**_ " he screams, running into the door with a full shoulder tackle. But he isn't strong enough to take it down, he realizes, but he tries it again and again, his body taking the shock fully, rippling through his aching frame. But he ignores the pain, screaming as he bares the ache over his arm.

He backs out, taking a moment to find clarity. He decides to go around, sprinting out of the room, ramming the front door open. But as he makes his way to the back, he looks through the windows that peer into the ante room.

He scrambles to them, nearly slipping over some rocks.

Most of the windows are blocked by curtains, all but one that allows only a slit of vision into the room, angled perfectly for Calvary to only reveal the sleeve of the same dirty teal jumpsuit hidden behind the piano's lid.

The piano isn't supposed to be positioned that way either. No, it's placed the exact way he saw it this morning, placed to mock him. And that infuriates him.

He leaps onto the sectioned window, smashing a fist into the glass of one of its squares so he can reach up to unhook it, but his fingers find a set of knots tying the lock into place. His claws try to cut through it but progress is slow, ultimately too slow.

His hand then slips back, the hole he's made filling the air with the song.

Calvary looks about, and screams for help, but no one is around to answer. Not one of his security guards are present.

Shaking his head, he then bolts to the side of the building, quickly finding the lone door there alighted by a single overhead lamp. His firm grip locks onto it and twists. Good fortune finds it fit to be unlocked. Unusual at this time of night, but he ignores it.

When he enters the hallway, eyes peering through the dark trying to make sense of the shapes, he realizes that the music has stopped. Panic furthers into his veins and he chances the looming shadows and feels his way to the door.

First he finds the head of his staircase's newel, the one that leads to his office upstairs. Then he brushes passed it, stumbling to his right side, feeling the wall for the door. When he finds it, another sign of good fortune lets the door give way without resistance.

The sheer amount of rage ebbing into his core is enough to have him barreling into the room, but when he enters he finds that the room is empty.

The piano is without an occupant, and the single window he'd peered through earlier is wide open, its curtains billowing in the cool evening breeze.

Music long gone and his heart thrumming rapidly in his chest, the only other sounds he hears is the whistling in the wind coupled by the sound of a distant vehicle driving away.


	17. Those Left Behind (pt. 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This town walks with ghosts.

**This was supposed to come out early December but then I got really sick. Sorry guys for the wait, but hey, it's here now! XD I've not much else to say, but Happy New Year, folks. :)**

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There is an aviary in Bronc Town, nestled in a quiet spot on Perigreen Street, up on a rooftop on some hideaway apartment building. A building once owned by a Mister Ronald Whitewood. And today, on his faithful return, the young Japeth Whitewood inherits his little haven in the south.

The young otter wanders into the garden that covers the aviary floor, the crows bustling about him, eating the buckets of corn he sets aside.

He finds his way into the center and turns his eyes skyward, watches them swirl about like a murky tornado, their excess feathers cascading into the flora. He breathes in the air and the scent of nature caught in their erstwhile plumage.

He then pulls out a single wild orchid, bright pink with honeyed tips poking out of its center. With a smile he plants it into the open dirt, pats its sides, and lays little stones around it. Then he tucks crow feathers around it, and laughs to himself.

It’s a strange sight to say the least but Kayla always loved it, as did he. But they weren’t the only ones.

Marshal Hector, the baker’s son, enters the aviary with a tiny smile on his face. And Japeth, with all the strength in his little bones, bolts towards him in a tackle, nearly knocking the wind out of the lean pig. “Oof! Ha ha, I see you haven’t been slackin’ off now, haven’t ya’, Jap?”

“Told ya I’d grow big enough to get back at you!”

With a pleased chuckle, the middle-aged pig pats the young otter on the head before rustling his fur.

He kneels down to level with him. “Let me have a look at ya’.” Marshal looks him up and down, the confident little mustelid as he beams hard and heavy at the elder baker. He notes his proud posture, the form of his tiny muscles despite the little bulge of his gut, the clean and even fur with the tuft on his head slicked back to appear professional. He’s nothing like the quirky little otter he used to be, nothing like the naïve child who used to cling to his leg when he was afraid.

And in those eyes once so filled with promise and youth, is now heavy, wounded by a sudden tragedy poisoning his mirth, all tucked behind the cleaved out smile and forced aura of joyful rapture. Marshal covers his mouth as he looks him over, choking back a sob. A sullen hand tries to reach for him but quickly retreats. “You’re a man now, ain’t ya?”

“Aw, Mar,” Japeth jabs his shoulder weakly, tearing up a little himself, “don’t get me so worked up…”

They embrace like siblings might, Marshal cradling the little otter as if he were like a baby brother. And a crushing thought occurs to him, a bitter torment burning into his thoughts, thoughts he suppresses, buries beneath the dirt in an attempt to quell the fire, but it does little to silence the whisper of crows, cawing into the open air, as if to mock him.

A sullen sigh escapes his lips.

Marshal diverts his attention to the orchid bobbing in the wind running through the aviary; its little sway, mesmerizing, a thankful distraction.

“That her?”

Japeth, having pulled out of the hug, looks to the little plant, alone in a sea of grass and discarded feathers. “If she’s somehow here with us, I supposed it might be.” He ambles towards the lonely orchid, his tiny feet flushing into the grass that reaches up to his knees.

“Didn’t think she liked orchids,” Marshal says.

“She didn’t, not always.” There is a hint of some reverence in his eyes as he looks at it. The idea that it is effectively acting as Kayla’s headstone is a grim thought that passes for only a moment, finding the memories laced into the aviary a comforting respite.

“I know it’s a little grim considering,” Japeth continues, kneeling into the dirt as he pats around the plant, “but as kids we had this dream where we’d…” he bites his lip as he shrinks beneath Marshal’s curious gaze. “Well, where we’d bury you here in the garden when you got old.”

Marshal can only find it in himself to chuckle at the naïve suggestion. Marshal would much prefer to be buried with his future wife, or at least his family but the idea that he might be buried in the aviary is still a decent option, all things considered.

“Alright, so what does this have to do with orchids?”

“Well, you see, we came up with this idea where each of us would be buried here, placing you first, then us, but we wouldn’t have headstones, we’d have plants.”

“I’m guessin’ she wanted the orchid?”

“Honestly, I think it’s cause she thought it was a pretty name for a flower. Don’t think she knew it was a family of flowers. But when I asked her what she wanted planted over hers, she just blurted that out. I didn’t think to correct her, it wouldn’t have been wise.” He shrugs in his direction, laughing sheepishly.

“Smart man. You woulda lost that conversation, Jap.” They share a chuckle that lets all the tension fade away, sitting together by the orchid as if all three of them were together again. Japeth would have lamented at the thought were he not already so incredibly fond of it.

“So tell me, Jap,” Marshal says suddenly, “what did you plan to plant on mine? I don’t ever remember bein’ asked. And I remember most of the conversations we had when I was babysittin’ you two.”

“Well, we opted for an apple tree so by the time it was our turn, you’d be tall enough to watch over us.”

The mirth emanating from Marshal’s chortle fills the air, captivating the young otter in a familiar sound he remembers reverberating in his ear whenever he and Kayla rested on his belly when they relaxed on the couch together. “You two always were so incredibly inventive,” Marshal comments, wiping a joyous tear.

With a look of amusement, Japeth then returns to tending to the orchid, but with his back turned to Marshal, Japeth doesn’t see the sad smile creasing his cheek.

Marshal walks away with a little huff, watching the feathers part from his feet. When he reaches the door, he kicks a few into the air. “Jap…”

Japeth turns, surprised that Marshal is suddenly at the end of the room, having not heard his footsteps. “What’s up, Mar? Something wrong?”

The same sad smile still cuts through his lip, tilting it in a way that looks torturous, almost begging for forgiveness for what he is about to say. “Leave town, Japeth. It isn’t safe here. Not for any of us. But where most of us can’t leave, _you_ can.”

The look on his face is incredulous, shocked. “But… I just got here.”

Marshal shakes his head, the curve to his lips still upward but sullen, staring into the doorframe, back still turned to him. “Bronc Town ain’t what it used to be. And with the way things are… well, I can’t rightly stand the sight o’ you losin’ your mind in a place like this. Folk ‘ere are scared, and I’m sure you are too, but fear like this only eats up folk. You oughta get the heck outta dodge before things start plummetin’ in your direction.”

It hurts to hear Marshal say that, hurts further to know that he would never exaggerate, especially with something so delicate. But Japeth fixes him with a steely gaze, a determination to him that is almost desperate. “Then come with me.”

“I can’t leave pa behind. He needs me here now more than ever.” Of course he means more than just his job as a baker. Marcus has always resigned himself to watch over the townsfolk on these hard times, doing what he can to serve them well and keep their spirits up, but conversation and general merriment isn’t work so when Marcus is out conversing, Marshal has to continue baking. The Autumn Festival hasn’t made that any easier.

And Japeth knows all this, deigning to stall Marshal until he can find a better excuse for himself, but none come quickly enough.

Marshal sees the struggle in the little otter and mentally scolds himself for not splitting him in two. But he has to convince him to leave. In the very least for his own peace of mind. “I’m not the same man I was before all this. I’m a workin’ man now with a lot more responsibility than watchin’ over a pair of little otters. And with that comes the heavy burden of bein’ intimately tied to this town.”

“Some of us are resigned to the choices we make, and mine was stayin’, followin’ in my pa’s footsteps. We can’t take back these choices, Jap, they’re what makes us who we are. And they’re the reason why you’re in college.” Marshal finds that Japeth and all that he is elects to adamantly refuse him. And though such a thing might have been admired in any other circumstance, it only serves a death sentence here.

Japeth approaches Marshal instead this time, perhaps determined to convince the pig otherwise. “You’re not giving yourself enough options. You aren’t bound to this place. You can leave, start elsewhere, somewhere safe.”

Marshal can only find naiveté in those words, unable to grasp any of the strength the young man puts up for himself.

He fixes Japeth with a steady yet soft gaze, embodying his brotherly persona. “You don’t belong here anymore, Jap. And let’s be honest, neither did Kayla. Your lives were meant to be elsewhere… together.” He looks away, then shakes his head before kneeling before him and laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But _your_ future still exists. Don’t put your life on hold here. It’s not what she would have wanted.”

Marshal doesn’t wait for him to retort, leaving the room through the glass door and into the spiral staircase reaching into the abyss below. He knows that if he ever came up with a proper response, he’d know where to find him, but in this moment he feels he’s caught onto him. Perhaps he understands. And in spite of himself, he finds himself hoping, praying, that the little otter does what he asks and leaves his life here behind.

It isn’t an easy request, but it’s a safer one. “Don’t wait till Carrion takes you away too, Jap…” he whispers to himself, ignoring the sobs echoing down the steps.

**~~~**

**YOU MADE IT EASY**

 

The words echo in their minds, a mockery, a sign of failure dangling before them. With all their irate bickering and the town’s collective madness, it seems that Carrion has capitalized on all the infighting and has given them his magnum opus.

And as the whispers in town echo from lips to lips, fears and hesitations of one become that of the many. Doubts about a police force divided by pride and difference of opinion, the looming dread about the threat of Carrion, the cracked visage of a once stoic mayor.

Carrion’s curse lingers, and all the townsfolk, young and old, fear each passing night as it shrouds the demon in town. The air seems dry now, hitched with something unstable, deadly even. That scent, familiar and heartbreaking as it was all those years ago. Carrion’s great gift: _Defeat._

“As of last night, two of the deputies have gone missing.”

“Who?”

“Bill Macy and Trudy Adams.”

“Shit. Daniel’s sister? That’s horrifying! What if it was _her_ blood he found at Creed’s place?”

“We’re looking into that but Terence seems out of his element right now. Guy looks spooked.”

“Who’s Bill Macy though?”

“Remember that wolf chick, Anya, who strangled that lion yesterday? Well Bill’s her brother. He was taking the day off to relax. I called him up to check on her, and he told me he’ll take care of it when she gets home. I guess I should’ve been worried. I called them up and no one answered. Turns out Anya went straight to bed and didn’t notice her brother was missing.”

“That’s gotta be traumatizing…”

“She’s scared like the rest of us right now, maybe more. Close shave with Carrion himself, can you imagine? But she’s sleeping at a friend’s right now. She’ll be fine if she just keeps her head on straight.”

“I’ve actually got bad news myself. One of the security guards has gone missing.”

“Who?”

“Darley Welks, a hippo. He was on duty too. Carrion decided not to pick any of the ones who took the day off, that cocky bastard…”

“I heard all the security guards were called out for a meeting off-site, how did none of them think something was up when the entire building was left empty?”

“They were apparently called out to different places nearby to discuss something important. To them it must have looked like they were handpicked from the lot to do something important and hush-hush. Way I hear it, the messages were laced with some prestige to them or something to make those who got the message feel special, but they were really just being segregated to ward off suspicion.”

“That makes three kidnappings from last night alone, which makes ten dead total…”

“Townsfolk are gonna flip when they find out.”

“How have you kept your cool this entire time?”

“I haven’t. I’ve bought enough locks to secure every door in my house twice over, and I did just that. And the keys are chain-locked to my hip.”

“That’s what all those keys are for?”

“Yeah, man, I’m scared shitless, losing my damn mind here. How have _you_ kept your wits about you? You don’t seem as shaken as the rest of us.”

“For one thing I stopped bringing a tranq to work.”

“Shit, that thing’s real? You’re carrying around a live firearm?”

“Haven’t you heard? Everyone’s doing it now, even the high school kids.”

“No one in town feels safe anymore, huh?”

“We’re supposed to be the law around here and do _you_ feel safe?”

**~~~**

Nick and Judy enter City Hall with a sense of caution lingering in the tense atmosphere, passing by a whole host of people jumping at shadows. A myriad of whispers fills the air amongst the sullen security guards, blaming only themselves for their failure. If at least one of them had recognized the suspicious behavior, someone might have been around to help Calvary but Judy, with an overwhelming sense of reluctant pessimism, understands that even _if_ they managed to catch up to Carrion, it would have only added to the body count.

But she keeps quiet, passing through as invisibly as she can, her shawl doing wonders for hiding her uneasy hands that don’t know what to do with themselves.

Nick pushes into the ballroom where they spy Liz and Reese taking photos of the blood writing on the ceiling.

“What do we have, Liz?” Nick says as he joins their side beside the police line around the fallen droplets.

Liz harbors no present will to even _pretend_ to smile, deigning to fix her eyes over her notepad instead. “Well the guards were all called off to different nearby locations for a ‘special briefing’. In sets too, all asked to walk so none of them took their vehicles in the parking lot, and each exit is frequently used by a different guard to draw too much attention to one doorway.”

“An’s phone was stolen from Forensics,” Reese adds, similarly focused on work, “that’s how they got those messages. You can imagine the panic Terence is going through right now.”

Nick’s lip tilts. “Tracking?”

“ZPD’s equipment can’t find anything, and neither can An’s. For all we know, he destroyed it.”

“And what about the other guards they passed by?” Judy asks, skepticism gracing her features. “Surely someone might have thought it suspicious that so many people were leaving.”

Reese sighs, letting his camera rest against his chest as he crosses his arms. “Carrion had eyes on the surveillance somehow, cause he made sure everyone on the exteriors left first and he worked his way inwards. Effectively ensuring that no one passed by anyone else on their way out.” It didn’t need to be mentioned that the surveillance was turned off when Carrion did his thing.

Nick sighs but with a playful dejection. When Judy turns to him, she finds that his sodden expression has vanished, a sad smile that is almost laughing takes its place. “Well it looks like you two have had an eventful morning,” came his cheery, atypical tone. “So how about this: you two walk us through the rest of the crime scene, tell us what you know, and then you can take a break.”

The two spare a glance at each other, unsure of how to readily respond. “We’ll be happy to walk you through the rest,” Liz states, albeit confused, Nick delighting at her sudden lack of somber features, “but there’s no need for us to quit working.”

“I disagree. I happen to think that you two have been working yourselves too hard.” He kneels before the little animals and places a hand on either shoulder. “You two look like you haven’t had any coffee. How does a steaming mug sound?”

Reese is nonplussed about the idea of some coffee, feeling utterly useless behind his camera even if it _is_ important to keep documentation. After yesterday’s sheer amount of fiascos and theatrics, it leaves him with an unbidden desire to keep working if only to quell his uncertainties and fears with distractions. “Even though that certainly _sounds-_ ”

“Delightful,” Liz finishes for him, taking his hand in hers. He gives her a tentative look, urging her to look at him, but when she does he finds her smiling up at him, asking him to join her as she silences the raving doubts clouding the dark circles around her eyes.

With a sigh, he concedes, and Nick claps his hands once in apparent approval. Judy only rolls her eyes at the obnoxious fox, his visceral, fanged grin doing everything it can to serve to usher her into surrender before his wily antics.

And Judy, with all the willpower of a broken twig, does not resist the giggle ebbing from her slender lips towards the strangely jolly fox and the now suddenly slightly awkward pair of deputies.

They are lead to the doorway into the anteroom, and they immediately notice the light claw marks scuffing the old wood. “Calvary came in and heard music off speakers after seeing the stain in the ceiling. The wires here are connected directly into the anteroom, ripped from the stage,” Reese informs.

“Music?” Nick asks.

Liz is saddened by the thought of it. “According to Calvary, it was Chopin’s Nocturne. It was being played that morning too, some fresh employee in a teal jumpsuit. Masterful talent to him too, way I hear. You can imagine his horror when he realized it was Carrion.”

They want to ask about any details they might know about the mysterious employee who had apparently wandered through the grounds unnoticed but of course there would be nothing. It wouldn’t be Carrion otherwise.

They take them to the door, Liz eying the scars in the wood with a sense of unease. “As you can see, Calvary proceeded to attack the door when he knew who was behind it but he wasn’t strong enough to take it down. He then sprinted out of the door…”

The pair then leads them into the hall and towards the front door. The double doors of it swing lightly in the morning breeze. Judy remembers the way Calvary stood at that very door, shouting to the heavens for the girl he loved like a daughter. The defeat in his limp form, the echo of his screams… they mirrored her own when she found Nick bleeding in the alleyway that same night.

She shakes her head, dispelling the thoughts, but they don’t stop her from taking his arm in hers. Nick doesn’t protest, laying a gentle hand on her head.

Once outside, the pair directs them to a set of windows parallel to an arrangement of bushes. “He went around front and tried the window here but they were all knotted shut,” Reese tells them, holding out a red string he kept in a little zip-lock bag. “Terence will be looking into them for evidence but it’s unlikely we’ll find anything. The things aren’t even frayed. They’re brand new, almost as if they were just weaved before finding themselves on the windows.”

Liz sighs as she ushers them further, adjacent to the only open window. “What’s worse is that in the only one of the windows you could see through, Calvary managed to see Carrion’s sleeve, just enough to tell him he’s really in there but not enough to identify him. In fact, he was so hysterical that he can’t even be sure of his height.”

“But we can be,” Judy offers, surprising the two. Nick then immediately puts her on his shoulders so they can peer into the window together. “I’m assuming that lid obstructed the rest of him?”

“What was he wearing?” Nick asks.

“A jumpsuit. Teal. Full body,” Reese is quick to respond.

“Clever. He hid his arm’s width and texture whilst maintaining an aloof appearance amongst the employees.” Nick grins, spurning some honest hope in them. “But not clever enough.”

Nick moves left to right as the pair of them observe the piano from those viewpoints, drawing a diagram in their heads.

“The lid from this angle, though purposeful, doesn’t hide enough,” Judy adds as she rests her elbows on Nick’s head, folding his ears. “It’s triangular with the curtains blocking much of him from the line of sight but some of him should have peeked out of the other edges of the lid if he was a large mammal.”

“Furthermore,” Nick continues, “the sleeve and the sheer width of the piano tells us that he’s certainly not a short mammal. Combining that with our evidences of his height—”

“—the attack on Nick in the alley—” Judy follows through with him, wincing with him at the same time.

Nick continues, “—and his probable height from the cemetery—”

“Height from the cemetery?” Liz interrupts, tilting her head at them.

The pair chuckles, realizing that they’ve forgotten them for a moment. “Well,” Judy begins, “the headstone was in an open area right in front of three people and surrounded by several others. In order to place the ring on top of it, someone had to have slipped it in whilst Calvary and An were focused on Ross. Meaning someone with an inconspicuous size, with a width not exceeding Ross himself, and the height to match available evidence that allows him to overlook the headstone comfortably, then we’d end up with someone about…” Judy meets Nick’s eyes beneath her, the pair of them realizing that they’d become a totem again, “well, someone about _our_ height.”

Reese and Liz stare wide eyed at the two stacked together, realizing that they essentially tower over them. “That’s the standard height for most moderate mammals,” Liz says, a lingering sense of cynicism still wafting about her nerves. “That doesn’t narrow it down too much.”

“But it’s a step in the right direction,” Nick says proudly.

Liz, despite herself, can’t help but smile at them, their positive attitude more infectious than they perhaps intended. “Shall we continue?” she says after a giggle that Reese is almost embarrassed for her to utter.

Reese takes the lead as they round the corner for the side entrance of the building. In a dark alley, the lone light hanging over the only door there sits ominously in the sea of dark around it.

“Is that how he got in? Was it locked?” Judy asks as they traverse the dark.

Reese turns to answer but hesitates when he realizes that she’s still perched on Nick’s shoulders. Judy’s expectant look, however, prompts him not to comment. “W-well it wasn’t, which is unusual given that Rocko regularly rounds the building, locking everything.”

“And where was _he?_ ” Nick asks curiously. Though he certainly wouldn’t accuse a timid head custodian, he wasn’t about to deny the possibility.

“Having a late dinner with his staff down at the Rogue Gallery,” Liz says, not quite sure why they’d have dinner at a bar and… oh, okay, now she gets it. She shakes her head. “It wasn’t too late and he assured us that that door was locked when he left.”

“Convenient timing,” Judy comments, only the slightest bit skeptical but knows better. “How long have they been planning this outing?”

“Since the whole Carrion thing started.” That confirms her suspicions.

Though it left City Hall open, she does understand why he did it. He knew his staff would go crazy if they didn’t find a way to unwind. And after what they’ve seen, it seems like the whole town could use a break.

“Meaning that Carrion himself could have heard about it and had been waiting for last night since then.”

Their eyes widen at the fluffy totem before them, Reese coughing as he nervously scratches the back of his head. “Jeez, let’s at least make sure Rocko never hears about it. He’ll just end up blaming himself.”

Liz emits a dejected sigh. “As if he didn’t already…”

They enter the door, emerging into a dark hallway with a staircase to the left. “Calvary walked through here,” Liz says as she walks ahead of them, “stumbled into the hallway and entered the anteroom. Both doors were unlocked.” She accents it by lightly pushing open the door, revealing the anteroom.

“Carrion intended to lead him here,” Nick points out, crossing his arms agitatedly, “so he could slip out before he got in, all to mess with Calvary.” They had all figured, but there is a bitterness to it when said aloud, a pang of something unkind that, as sad as it may sound, is all too familiar at this point.

“He slipped through the window, I’m guessing?” Nick asks, looking down at them. Reese nods.

Judy’s legs tug Nick back, prompting the two to turn back into the hallway. “This place was untouched, right? Keeping the crime scene intact?” Another nod.

“Liz?” she says, the otter’s affirmation caught with a quiet ‘hm?’ “That staircase leads to a door in the hallway, correct? Could you check if it’s locked?”

Liz affirms as she pounces off of Reese’s head, landing on the newel, running up the railing to reach the door. Judy is almost as certain as Nick that the entire thing was staged, that Carrion created the path for Calvary, but one doubt still lingered. The door in the hallway upstairs separates Calvary’s office and his room, and is thus the fastest way from his bedroom to the anteroom. And when Liz announces that it’s locked, it confirms all suspicion. Had he tried for that door, he would have just gone around to the expected path.

Calvary went to bed early that night, and perhaps Carrion anticipated that he’d wake early too. But there was no guarantee Calvary would have left his room. But then she realizes that the speakers could have just been turned up, loud enough to draw him downstairs. That was perhaps the purpose of the speakers, because a grand piano, a finely tuned one, could certainly be heard through the door. It’s actually the purpose of placing the two rooms adjacent. With the door open, the piano can be played for those in the ballroom.

When Liz rejoins them downstairs, they enter the anteroom that doubles as a study, the piano inside set at a strange angle against the only open window.

Nick asks for their forensics kit.as he approaches the large instrument, dustless and pristine, a piece of high quality craft if he’d ever seen one. Were his apartment big enough, he might have considered getting one himself.

His fingers are tempted over the keys but they never touch. Slipping some latex gloves on, he sprays the keys to find the dust on them. The prints are all flat, pressed in such a way as to make them uniformly round. They give away neither the shape of hoofed fingers, fur lengths of furred ones, or simple fingerprints.  The amount of dirt is also something he notices. They’re all thick and heavy, perhaps meant for Carrion to ensure that every key needed was marked.

His eyes first shift between notes on the music book sitting on the piano to the keys themselves. They match, of course. But it tells of something strange about Carrion. He could have easily just played a recording of the song, but he felt the need to emphasize that he could _play the piano._ And _well,_ at that.

“Who in town plays the piano?”

Reese shrugs. “Some high schooler fresh in band class.”

“Calvary himself,” Liz adds, “Mona Creed, too, I believe, but that’s as far as I know.”

That sadly doesn’t tell them anything. Calvary could perhaps have been Carrion, but that doesn’t place him in Creed’s house or Ross’s since he’d been sleeping the entire time. Plus, pretending to be attacked draws a little too much attention his way.

Nick claps his hands before turning to the deputies. “I think we’re done here,” he announces happily.

Reese sputters. “W-what? But there’s more! He-“

“Jumped out the window? We figured. We can handle the rest from here. You two go on ahead.” Nick spares no time to usher them out quickly. Reese barely finds the words to protest when he’s left outside, and any words he may have gathered die the minute Liz takes his hand in both of hers as she drags him away with a gentle smile.

Judy watches the two escape, patting Nick on the head with a gentle knuckle. “They remind you of anything?”

Nick laughs. “Well you _are_ kinda clingy.”

She flicks his forehead from above him. “First of all, you love it. Secondly, I just believe in the value of bodily contact. It’s comforting.”

He nuzzles her from beneath as she rests her body over him. “No argument here.”

The pleasant affection aside, Judy raps her palms against his head. Eyes thoroughly affixed on her, she points him towards the window.

When they approach it, they immediately note the broken glass and the missing square in the window, but judging from the height and its inward entry, it was likely from Calvary trying for the knots.

They then scan the frame, looking over it and spraying where Carrion’s hands and feet may have been. No notable marks or dirt anywhere on it. Knowing this, they look over the frame and eye the grass below.

Judy then hops off Nick and walks a few feet away from the window. Nick turns to her, confused, about to ask what on earth she’s doing but the words never leave him as she sprints forward and he stumbles out of the way. She then leaps out of the window without even touching it, landing squarely on the pavement a good few feet away from where she leapt, promptly scaring a few guards. Proud of her skill, she leans down to scan the grass.

Nick peeks out to deadpan at her, but she ignores him anyway. “Any particular reason why you did that?”

“Was testing a theory.” She smiles at him. He rolls his eyes with an easy smile that tells her he’s just going to accept it.

Returning to her work, Judy considers that if Carrion went out through the window, he would have needed to land on one of two things before stepping safely on the pavement. He either leapt from the window frame, which it appears he hasn’t, or skipped over it to the grass below. Though it’s plausible that a bunny like herself could clear the gap in one go, she highly doubts one of her own kind is strong enough to lift an elephant, let alone a hippo security guard.

The dirt and grass across from the window seems a little displaced, so she pokes a finger into it. But then she hears Nick clamber onto the windowsill. She scrambles to the side before he leaps from his perch, tucking and rolling on the pavement, landing with significantly less grace but cleanly nonetheless. “What’d you find?” he asks as he dusts himself off then extending a hand to the mildly panicked bunny.

Her tilted lip vanishes the next instant as she leans into the pavement, reaching out towards the tiny indents in the dirt. “Well one thing’s for sure, he isn’t a bunny, he’d have made that jump otherwise.” She gestures over the four concaves in the dirt. “And he had stones or something set up here, ones he removed. Used them to inconspicuously cover his tracks. He must have landed on them on his way out.”

“A swift exit.” Nick nods, leaning down to part the grass with his extended claws. One such indent, the one closest to the window, is actually wider than the rest, broadening to the side. “Looks like Calvary almost tripped on this one.”

Judy notes the tugged edges of the dirt from the indents. “Looks like he pulled them away altogether.”

“Attached to a string maybe?”

She nods. “He went through a lot of trouble just to mock Calvary. Almost seems like a vendetta for him personally.”

Nick studies the depth of the indents then, seen mostly by their keen eyes but likely invisible to most others. They aren’t very deep, and if it’s an animal that stands on around their combined height, then it’s an incredibly nimble one. “He’s lightweight too.” Though it’s certainly not a new detail, they always kind of figured anyway.

Judy takes a step back to observe the scenario, eying the piano sitting inside the anteroom.

 _Backup plans and orchestrated scenarios. Carrion revels in his control of a situation, because that is how he operates: flawlessly, without error, and if something goes awry, he always has a contingency in place. The only way to catch someone like that is to do something completely unexpected._ And she realizes, that is why she has never been targeted, nor Nick. Because they are foreign entities beyond his strict understanding. Carrion is observant but never goes into doing something without every certainty that everything would go according to plan.

Nick is living proof of that. He nearly found Carrion, and was attacked because of it. A slip-up because he had just arrived sooner than Carrion could feasibly analyze. And it tells of why Carrion didn’t take Nick when he found him in the alley. Because the unforeseen consequences of taking him would have invited variables he wasn’t prepared for. She would have hunted him down in a mad dash to stop Carrion, would have rallied her family and friends, all of the Bigs and the ZPD to find Nick. And though Carrion would not have known any of that, he would not take his chances. The certain consequences of Nick being left alive were, in their own way, a manner of control for him too because he can handle having his height estimated, but all those eyes Judy would have invited into town are certainly nothing to be trifled with. Him alive meant certain fear for their very lives for as long as they still had them, him dead meant anger and a thousand-eyed bunny looming over the town in search of a monster.

And then it leaves her to wonder about something else. The ZPD are a certain threat so he avoided them entirely. They don’t come from here, Carrion doesn’t know them and thus cannot act on or even around them. No, he’s careful. Even Sam and Bogo remained untouched during the first kidnappings.

If he wanted to cripple the ZPD, it would have been easier to kill them with his skillset, but he didn’t. And yet, Carrion is bolder than ever, getting so incredibly close to being caught, having pieces of him revealed bit-by-bit whereas nothing about him before was ever revealed, (Alexander Wolfgang’s journal notwithstanding).

There could be a great many reasons for his audacity as well. Carrion could be old or incredibly ill, trying to go out with a bang. He could be an apprentice who wanted to one-up his master or a copycat adding his own flare that began with a failed gun trial. But the worst idea still lingers in the back of her mind, and she certainly hopes it isn’t true, that Carrion is perhaps only perfecting his craft after preparing for his own return for ten years.

Her thoughts go on, wafting through a sea of theories about an elusive enigma.

And perhaps Nick notices when he hoists her up and places her back on his shoulders. His hands sink into his pockets as he walks away with her.

“Nick, where are we going?”

“Taking a break. Try not to worry your little head.”

She only sighs when he begins to whistle, letting his random melody drain her thoughts, mind alight of a silly, clever fox.

**~~~**

Inside the sheriff’s office, Ross runs his fingers through the fur on his head, sighing audibly as he attempts to quell the message left in his bedroom just the other night, the words still screaming in his head. He presses on through the headache, palms against his temples as his fingers clench over his scalp. They then ball into fists, dragging them down his face before falling to his lap, limp and defeated.

“It wasn’t my blood,” Eli says as she saunters into view, sitting at the other end of his desk.

“It didn’t need to be. I just had to _think_ that it was…” _and he’d already won._ He doesn’t say the last bit, fearful of what the apparition might say.

But of course she hears him anyway. “He hasn’t won, Ross.”

He doesn’t dare to look at her face when she suddenly shifts onto his side of the desk, eying him down with a concern he can almost delude himself into believing is real. But her gaze can only conjure torment for him now.

What’s worse is that he has no way of telling if she even died peacefully. Was she at all in pain? Did she awake in some dank confines, met with nothing but darkness and perhaps a cold blade pressed to her back? Or was her last memory before she left this world that last tender moment with her husband? It was meant to be a goodbye, done for him so he could miss her all the more… but it was never meant to be their last.

And yet she’s here, in this very room, with the same face and the same tone, as concerned for his wellbeing as she always has. But her face – he curses at the idea of it alone – it can only be in his dreams, can only be an illusion. It cannot be real. Because it was ripped from him, stolen away, now gone forever, and to deject himself to hope and pray that she is still somehow alive, is a delusion he knows will only destroy him completely when he knows the truth. _That she never woke up._

This week has been harrowing to say the least, his entire world changing in an instant, plunging him into this hell so suddenly that he can almost delude himself into thinking that it’s all just a terrible dream. But the cold air is palpable, and his old self feels so very, very dead. Eyes drawing to his reflection in a picture frame, the man behind it with a patched-up cheek scar, and he believes he’s staring at a stranger. His body no longer feels like his own. Who he was having died with her.

Has it really only been a handful of days?

He can feel his youth ebb away, lost in the wind and with the crows. And his tired bones feel as if they have aged decades. He’s tired, so very tired, but the words sprawled across his ceiling, a message left by Carrion himself, brought with it another torment to haunt him still.

Carrion was in his very home and he’d missed him.

His eyes draw to Eli, finally, and he wants to reach for her but his body won’t move. He wants to join her in the ether, to die in this moment and join her wherever she may go. She’s no ghost, of that he is certain. She is an illusion, but one he can make real.

She doesn’t stop him when he reaches for his pistol, the holster’s magnetic hook disconnecting with a soft click that echoes into the deep silence of the room. His breath is hitched, paced so out of feasible bounds that it feels like it’s tearing apart his lungs. His body seems to ache and decay as he draws up the weapon, eying down the barrel and the rough sheen of its engraving on its side in gold cursive: “Let All Who Pass Through Here Find Peace”.

It was a gift from Creed, his weapon custom made from his days as caporegime. Despite his profession he was still a devout catholic and his weapon was carved in that very regard, to usher the dead to eternity, a blessing he hopes is universal.

A silver bullet to his torments, one shot and it’ll all be over…

But it never rises, falling onto the desk instead. Eli’s face is expressionless, perhaps hiding her sadness.

“Not yet,” he whispers to her. “I’ll find you again when this is all over, but not until I put _him_ away…”

His theory is that Nick is somehow Carrion. That his talents and ingenuity can compensate for all potential pitfalls in his logic. He’s also banking on the fact that he was once a criminal who, for some reason, is now a famous cop, which doesn’t make any sense to him at all! And in the shining city of all places! Blaming Smith was only a diversion, to plant the idea of youth and able talent into their minds. He’d steer them away from that in time, directing them to Nick where all the pieces fall into place.

He is hell-bent on making sure it’s him. Because no one else is a tangible theory, no one else he’s willing to blame. It _has_ to be an outsider, it simply cannot be anyone in this town… because Eli loved this place and its people, and no one that woman loved can ever be Carrion.

And even though the original Carrion is almost certainly a local, he doesn’t care for that. He’s forgiven that man, whomever he may be. No, his vendetta is for someone else. “It’s him, I’m certain of it.”

“As am I,” she says, looking away for only a moment before giving him a smile. She gets off and walks passed his chair. He closes his eyes and drinks in the atmosphere, the headache subsiding as the cold air quells the anguish in his core, numbing it.

He hears a ruckus outside his door, eyes shooting open as he watches the door dangerously. It’s then that he realizes that Eli has vanished.

The door then slams open, as Nietly, the arctic fox dispatcher falls into his office floor. Her mouth is pressing feverishly into another arctic fox whose eyes are wide open his body still not quite catching up with his lips.

Ross ignores the spectacle wriggling on his floor as he spies Eli through the doorway, her eyes matching his and wanting to say something before she nervously shuts her mouth and walks away.

Nietly then gets off the other arctic fox, dusts herself off — her expression as blank and plain-faced as usual — then she walks away.

Despite herself, Ross can see the hint of desperate passion lingering off of her, a fire smoked out by the public display of affection as she regains her bearings. It was almost enough to distract him, if he’s being honest, but it isn’t like the rest of the town isn’t falling into a similar sense of depravity.

The door shuts itself then, the male fox she was pressed against finally finding his bearings as he stands up to face the expectant puma, brow raised at him. He coughs nervously, straightening his tie and picking his suitcase off the floor. “Good evening Mr. Rundi, I’m Egan Greycastle, Nietly’s husband?” He speaks with such control that it almost surprises him, not a hint of the regular nerves people would get in a situation like this.

“Ah, I remember you. The accountant from City Hall.”

He hops onto one of the adjacent seats, the little man somehow filling the seat with a sense of importance, making him appear larger than he is. “Yes, that’s me. Now I understand that you’re technically the sheriff now so I’ve come to collect the expense records from you.”

Ross immediately digs into one of the drawers, fingers quickly flitting through the files so he can pull out a ledger. “You mean this?”

With a pleased smile, he takes it, opening it quickly to scan through it.

He makes to speak but his mouth shuts, eyes as wide as they were before. He looks through line after line of the encoded data and what stoicism he had is now sparsely visible as he leafs through it further and further. He skips from the pages in larger intervals until he reaches the end, reading the final date. “I’m usually here for much longer since we need to do some further recording after Creed compiles them but… you seemed to have done both our jobs for us! This goes back several months even… How long have you been planning the take over?”

“It wasn’t meant for that. It was supposed to be a gift for Creed so he could relax for a while but… circumstances have changed.” Ross almost sounds sad, and perhaps he is, but his mind is a mess of a great many things, making it difficult to tell – even for himself – what exactly he’s feeling.

“Rather diligent, aren’t you? It even looks like I’ll have dinner with my wife after all…” The fox is thoroughly impressed, his once professional features alight. He laughs to himself as he shakes his head. “The position seems to suit you.”

“He said that too, once upon a time. Creed agreed that one day I would be sheriff…”

Egan stands, ready to take his leave, but Ross’s words stop him. He regards the puma but the taller man’s features are as frozen as ever, revealing nothing of the man underneath.

Egan’s curiosity wins over whatever professional air he had about him, looking over the man with a scrutinizing gaze. “If I may, might I ask you something personal?” Ross motions for him to continue. “Right, well, despite your coup, the state still recognizes Creed as the acting sheriff. You have the power now, my being here is every indication that City Hall recognizes that as well, but the position will never truly be yours. Once this is all over, you may even get fired. Does that… at all bother you?” Egan prepares himself for whatever spite Ross might have to backlash him but he is surprised to find the man relatively calm.

“In another life it would have, but in that same life I would have never overtaken Creed in the first place.” Ross speaks with a droll to him that almost sounds like he’d been asked this many times before, but perhaps it is because it is not an idea he feels the need to be bothered by. “Do not misunderstand me, Mr. Greycastle, I am not here for power. All I wanted was for someone to lead this investigation without prejudice, without bias. I lost my wife to this killer, and thus I no longer have any ambition to be career driven.” Ross doesn’t care for what may have been, not anymore, all that matters now, all that he forces himself to focus on, is what comes next, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make it the arrest of Carrion.

Egan takes the answer for what it is, telling him then that he’ll be off. But then Egan looks back at him as he presses into the door. Ross is brilliant and incredibly capable, would have been an asset to the town had he not staged that coup. And yet, he knows that despite all that, Creed could still one day forgive him. Ross may still be a proper sheriff, yet. “It’s never too late to come back, Mr. Rundi.” And with that, Egan is gone, the door shutting quietly behind him.

Ross eyes the pistol sitting at the desk, the carved writing glistening, speaking to him. Perhaps there might be some solace left in this world for him, perhaps there _is_ a way for him to return to the world and become part of it again. But that peace, that paradise that might be his will not have her in it. It never can, it never will, and thus he rejects it. Because the world’s beauty and all its incandescence is nothing to a man who doesn’t need those things.

The man who reveled in them, sunk into their want and their promise, who eyed his future with a road paved for a successful career and a beautiful home for his children, is for a man who is no longer here. Because it is _too_ late, he _is_ too far gone. And as he eyes his reflection, he sees only a husk with a specter underneath, writhing and lashing beneath the decayed skin. A furious creature who wants nothing but to punish he who has hurt him, who hurt his wife.

That vengeful spirit does not belong to a man, but to the same demon steaming off Carrion’s ever-present curse.

**~~~**

Bogo had almost forgotten his promise to Sam that they’d have coffee at Catfrani. To be fair, it seems a moot point since he’d arrived sooner, albeit for business rather than pleasure. She recognizes that, of course, but held it to him anyway. When they found out about what happened to Creed’s wall, blood writing as cliché as it may have sounded, it coalesced, even congealed into a bitter taste in their mouths, what comforts they found the day before then gone in an instant.

But with the billowing steam ebbing off heated black coffee, Bogo can’t help but lose himself in the sensation wafting into his nostrils.

Sam, who sits across from him, drowns her pancakes in honey, almost giddy about the idea of all that sugar surging into her cheeks. “Town’s going to shit and here we are having coffee,” she chuckles to herself, taking that first bite of a long overdue pleasant breakfast.

He takes a meditative sip of his coffee, momentarily forgetting to reply before he sighs happily. “I’d feel bad if this didn’t feel so good.”

Sam watches his thick chest heave underneath his black sweater and nearly bites her lip. “Thanks for looking like a civie, by the way. I know it’s unusual for you but I’m glad you guys came around anyway.”

He smiles at her. “You’ve only to ask.” He’d punch a macaw if she asked him to, trusting she’d have good reasons for wanting him to do it, and he’d done just that. A once-upon-a-time story of how they busted a bird fight club by getting the data storage off the ring leader’s pet bird’s leg. The adventures they’ve had have an assortment of madness to them. Drug busts and bank robberies, obscene thefts and car chases through all four central distracts. All of it almost seems like a TV show, and he chuckled at the idea.

Sam eyes the plastic placemats crudely cut from a larger table covering, smells the scent of still cooking breakfast and even relishes in the feel of the gecko leather of the booth seats. “Remember how much we hated this place the first time we came in?” she asks, splaying her arms across the seat’s long head, laying back to relax.

“How could I not? I walked into this place and the first thing I smelt was this thrice-damned Shepherd’s Express coffee and I swear I felt like I was in the city again.” They hated the place at first because it felt like an echo of Zootopia. And such a place, at least for the time, seemed like the last place they wanted to be. Because the city is their day-to-day, droll and yet incredibly noisy, commercial and incredibly glossy. A small town in the south almost felt like a vacation, but they were oh so very wrong.

Sam chuckles despite herself, her hardy persona lost in the mirth of familiar company. “Who’d have thought that that would end up being the very reason we kept coming back.” Because the sights, sounds, and symphonies of the city have become a faraway comfort, a distant familiarity like an old friend, something unlike the scent of autumn leaves across country valleys, fresh air and the smell of local goods wafting off family stalls.

Such simple pleasures had, once upon a time, a distinct allure that told them that perhaps retiring in Bronc Town might be a spectacular idea. And yet the old walls and lush valleys, the canopies like a sea of green glistening gold under the morning sun all have a sinister quality to them, as if to dupe you into thinking it’s all as good as it appears, that it is a kind and gentle place.

And yet it still is. They understand still that Bronc Town is still a pleasant place, and yet Carrion’s presence has become so incredibly magnanimous over the years despite his errant and foreboding absence. He has come to define the town, more so than the final resting place for an entire species! And to think, the entire time they’ve been here, they’ve completely forgotten that the last horse to ever live has died here on this soil, and he even has a giant bronze statue in the center of town!

And such a tragedy it is that such a place has lost its identity, desperately trying to recapture it in festivals and town-wide sales. The Autumn Festival couldn’t come any sooner, but they’re doubtful it’ll placate anyone at this point.

And though everyone’s hard at work trying to quell the bedlam – or delay it in the very least – the Town’s only real hope now is Nick and Judy cracking the case before the people start hurting each other… well, any more that is.

“Hopps and Wilde,” Bogo breathes quietly, a whisper intentionally loud enough for only Sam to hear as his lips blow over his coffee, “what do you think of them so far?”

Suddenly Sam’s elated gaze turns sodden, her fingers falling to the plastic covering of the booth, running over the bumps in the placemat contemplatively. It takes her a while to respond, every moment before adding to the worry in his similar features. “Your superstars are…” She tries to find kinder words but sugarcoating it would only leave her partner with more questions. Finally, she groans audibly. “Ugh, they’re so green it hurts…”

“Green?” Bogo is justly confused. Nick and Judy may not have the years to back them but they’re certainly not amateurs. They’ve been through a lot, well before joining the force even, plus their talents in case solving which have made them famous! How on earth can they be green? “Sara, I don’t follow.”

She looks away, not sure what making eye contact would even do to her, but regardless, she knows she can’t let this slide. “Look, as experienced as they are, they haven’t seen half the shit we have. They can be clever and perceptive, the good kind of detective shit we look for all the time, but they’re young and don’t have a single kill to their names.” She leans back, taking a sip of her own coffee before cautiously setting it down, watching Bogo with a wary gaze, deciphering his neutral yet curious expression. “Bo, I’ve seen the way they handle those guns. They’re custom made, I can tell, but they don’t know how to use them, and hope they never have to. But look at this place,” she gestures to the town outside their adjacent window, townsfolk mulling about cautiously, a hurry in their footsteps, afraid to be taken in broad daylight, “it’s likely they’ll end up firing those things eventually. Carrion is every indication that they’re dealing with something they haven’t encountered before. And when they find him, he’ll put up a fight.”

She takes another sip, Bogo shifting in his seat as he carefully considers her words, crossing his arms to remain steady. Cause Sam has been here since they’ve arrived and she’s clearly taken the time to look them over. He had expected her to just flat out criticize them, but it’s clear to him now that she’s worried, just as worried as he is, that one day they’ll do the unthinkable. And it goes against everything they teach you in the academy, to reduce the loss of life as much as possible, to capture and never kill. But this case and every damnable quality about it has haunted him, its demons whispering to him, telling him that if he ever gets his hands on Carrion, he isn’t sure if he’ll manage to hold himself back. And the thought still lingers over him like a grave omen that Nick and Judy might have to take a life to preserve their own.

“And don’t think they won’t,” Sam continues, “that fox reaches for his piece whenever he gets jumped like he’s got PTSD! He’s shaken, unlike himself, and is as afraid as we were when we realized that Carrion is nothing like the crooks we’ve gotten before. Murders are a dime a dozen nowadays but Carrion has turned into more of a monster than your average serial killer. He’s a boogeyman in this town and it’s even got _them_ spooked.”

“And that bunny of yours?” She chuckles sadly, a fist pressed to her lips as her eyes drift to the window, locked onto nothing. She then returns to him, the stern gaze returning. “Tell me, Bo, is she usually such a flirt?”

“Hopps?” He’s noticed that she and Nick have been regularly flirting as of late but he’d notice if it ever went further than that. His detective skills are still sharp and he’d notice if their affections have changed into anything other than their typical dynamic. There was always that assured distance between them, a good gap between their swaying hands as they walked or the way that most of their affectionate contact remained brief and friendly. But something’s changed, he knows, but he feels it’s a temporary affair. “No, not normally. At least, not that I’ve seen before this week.”

“That’s what I mean, Bo, they’ve changed since Carrion took that little otter girl.”

Bogo’s eyes widen, staring hard into the bengal tiger with a fear so vivid that it terrifies her as well. “Kayla Rivers?” he whispers cautiously.

She realizes that she hasn’t given him a full report yet and he’s likely been too busy to get one himself but… then her mind clicks at the strange detail: Bogo knows the little girl by name.

Suddenly Sam gasps as she puts two and two together. There was once a little otter girl who asked if they’d “catch the bad man” and Bogo did what he could to placate her. That quiet little soul that approached her at a vulnerable time… that same little girl is Kayla. And she’d failed her too.

“Bo, I’m… I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be,” he says quickly, his eyes determined and sure. “We’ll catch this bastard and put him away for good.”

Not too far away, Nick and Judy sit at the booth near the door, sparing quick glances at the two veteran officers from a distance. Judy’s ears try to pick what they’re saying but all she manages to hear is a sharp gasp from Sam above the indiscernible whispers. Minutes later, Bogo’s voice picks up and it just seems like he’s talking her down.

“I was hoping this would be more exciting,” Nick comments, sipping on his long-necked glass filled with orange juice.

Judy shrugs before slumping in her seat beside him. “When they didn’t see us come in, I thought we’d keep getting lucky but I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

They give up easily enough, because they didn’t really want to spy on them. They needed excuses to distract themselves and perhaps the idea of spying on their boss and his old partner might have honestly seemed like a good way to do that. Juvenile as it is, to fully go through with it now just seems like a complete waste of time.

Judy sighs but then smirks at Nick. “Dating you sucks, Wilde.”

He returns the smirk, eying her up and down in an attempt to make her uncomfortable, but of course she has no problem with is, her leering gaze maintaining. “Well,” he begins with a wanting growl, “I’m far better at licking, I’ll have you know.”

She doesn’t blush, eyes challenging as she leans upward to near his face. “That a suggestion, Slick?”

Gizelle steps cautiously around the booth to stand at its edge, first catching Judy’s eyes before Nick follows hers. “U-um… a-am I interrupting something?” she manages, a furious blush to her that contrasts with her golden locks.

“Oh no, not at all. Just a little banter between friends,” Nick replies readily, gesturing for her to join them at the other end of the booth.

She takes the seat across from them, a light blush still shading her cheeks as she raises a brow at them. For a moment she thinks they’re just messing around. “I didn’t think _banter_ included innuendo.”

They look at each other, a grin between them. “We share a very _special_ kind of friendship,” Judy responds, her risqué tone not escaping the meek gazelle, much to her dismay.

“O-oh? Is that so?” Her blush returns steadily and she can even feel her ears heating up, but then they laugh and it only takes a second for her to regain her composure as a light giggle bubbles from her lips as well. “You’re messing with me aren’t you?”

“Just trying to lighten the mood.” Nick shrugs. “This town has gotten a little dour.”

Gizelle groans in response, cheek resting in her hand. “You’re telling me… I was hoping to get reassigned but my boss thinks I’ll be coming back to the city with a big story when this is all over. I came here at the tail-end of the week but it feels like I’ve been here for months! What I wouldn’t give to get out of here…” Her stutter is lost when she’s complaining, a quality to it that Nick and Judy find rather curious about her. She’s certainly a strange woman.

She then realizes what she’s just said and gasps. “N-not that I’m saying you guys aren’t good company! I-” Her rapid-fire words are cut off.

“Calm down, mile-a-minute,” Nick says, hands out to still her. “We took no offense cause we know there is none.”

“Besides,” Judy says, “it’s not like we wouldn’t mind getting out of here ourselves. But this town needs us.”

“I honestly wish I could be more help. All I do is settle things in the courtroom but the little cheer we get from there doesn’t do much outside of City Hall.” They want to comfort her but the door behind them swings open, letting in a flood of laughter as some of the ZPD enter.

The sheer amount of joy buzzing off the collectively large bodies seem to fill the room and all its spaces.

The crowd quickly greets Nick and Judy before filling the booths between them and Sam, but Clawhauser hangs back to join them, sliding into the seat next to Gizelle, greeting her as well.

“So I hear you two are on a date.” Clawhauser leans in, hands pressed together and against his chest as he physically resists squeeing. “Any truth to that?”

They look to each other and shrug. “Well, technically,” Judy answers, “we’re really just—”

“—Shh!” the cheetah cuts her off, closing his eyes as if falling into some reverie. “Say no more.”

“But we’re—” Nick never manages to say as Ben shushes him quietly.

“Just let me have this moment.”

Gizelle giggles at the amusing cheetah, causing him to peer one eye open to regard her, smiling as he joins in her quiet laughter with a short chortle of his own.

The door swings open behind them, a good dozen deputies pouring into the room from a white van still idling just outside of the door in a _no parking_ spot. Every single one of them looks dangerous and intimidating (as much as people that young can manage), large mammals doing everything they can to betray the youth in their smooth and pale southern skins. Not a scar or tattoo between them, no wrinkle on their faces, a size to their muscles that speak the telltale signs of bodybuilders, and yet share no semblance to the toned and grizzled physique of someone whose profession has defined their shape, nothing like the veterans in the ZPD.

Nick and Judy watch them carefully, hoping that the ZPD across the wall does the same. Gizelle herself cowers behind Clawhauser as she sinks into her seat, praying that they don’t dare eye her. Clawhauser then leans forward, blocking view of her as much as he can. And she can tell by the way he quickly smiles back at her that it’s intentional, and suddenly she feels much safer.

The deputies stomp into the room, imposing their presence as they approach the counter where Carrie sighs and puts on the fakest smile she can manage. “This a bulk order to go?”

“We’re not here for you, freeloader,” says the rhino at the front, his tone dictating that he’s the head of them.

The little lynx’s gaze turns furious as her incredulous glare burns before them. Some of them flinch but try not to show it, the rest simply appear unfazed by her. “Excuse me!?” she shouts, hands falling firmly onto the counter, the attention of the room now fully shifting to them as they scoff at her.

Nick makes to move but Judy stills his hand. He looks down at her, his irritation lost in the sodden way she looks down at his wrist.

He realizes that she hasn’t grabbed his left arm which is propped against the table to slide him off the seat. Instead it’s in his right, which is resting firmly against his sidearm. When she lets go, he falls back into his seat, still watching the scene before them like the rest.

Judy’s fingers weave their way into his.

The group readily ignores Carrie’s seething as the rhino leans over the counter over her head, shouting “Mike! Get your guys out here!”

Cormick, the meek weasel deputy, slides out onto the kitchen counter, sitting on it as his fellow volunteer chefs peer out behind him but none of them daring to poke their heads out the window. “Jackson? What is it? We’re a little busy here.” His stutter is lost beneath the clear annoyance in his face and crossed arms.

Jackson’s eyes quickly shift across the room, hoping his imposing persona scares them. But only the townsfolk are wary, and the ZPD don’t seem very pleased with their presence. “Ross wants his people at the station for a briefing,” he says sternly, earning him a worried glance from the deputies in the kitchen, and another “what?!” from Carrie who is, again, completely ignored.

Cormick takes a moment to process it and quickly shakes his head in disbelief at them. “What? _No._ We have to stay and help Carrie. We can’t just leave her here alone.” The usually shy weasel is nowhere near the way he usually is, his building frustration with the wannabes emanating far enough to give the men and one woman behind him some of his strength as they too join his side through the kitchen portal.

“Fuck that,” Jackson quickly dismisses, “Ross wants us _all_ to report in, _no. exceptions._ ”

Cormick makes the mistake of walking out of his comfort zone, approaching the counter beside Carrie, as if to shield her. But when he makes it there, he looks up at the imposing figure towering over him even whilst on top of the counter. Some of his strength is quickly sapped but he steels himself anyway. “Th-then you and Ross can just… fuck off.” It doesn’t come out as strong as he would have liked but its intended effect carries on anyway.

Jackson leans down to meet his eyes seriously. “Say that again, wussy?”

Carrie honestly feels like she doesn’t need protecting, but admires Cormick’s desire to defend her anyway. So when she spies the way he’s trembling in one leg as he tries his best to fix Jackson with a glare, she makes to stand between them by pulling Mike away but she never manages to.

Francine places a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, her pleasant smile beaming down at them as she speaks. “Hey now, this doesn’t need to get violent. Why don’t we all just walk away from this and leave each other alone, hm?”

The rhino, with his men steadily behind him, looks her up and down and doesn’t even bother to dignify her even with a response. “You communing with them now, Mike?”

“Shoulda known you were just another fucking traitor,” says one of the goons.

“Pansy-ass wuss,” mumbles another.

Francine, with her other hand behind her back, clenches it into a fist as she considers nailing the proud rhino into the white tiled floor.

“Look,” Cormick says, finding his lost willpower with the gargantuan ZPD officer so close by, “I don’t care what Ross says. He stationed us here for important reasons and those reasons haven’t changed. So we’re not going anywhere.”

The rhino opens his mouth to argue but then Nick plops onto the counter as well, sitting easily before them. “I say you take his advice. It’s real simple too, all it takes is a few steps out the front door. No hassle, no fuss, everybody wins!” His cheerful demeanor means to irritate them, but it’s clear that it’s intentional when Judy joins him, sending them her own warning grin.

“The alternative is that you don’t make it to that briefing either.” She leers at them cheekily, her teeth gleaming at them. “Extortion is illegal, after all, and we have enough witnesses in here to ensure that you make it to the cells before you get to the briefing room.”

They take a moment to consider the amount of glares they get from the room. Surely they can’t downplay this anymore, but not all of the ZPD are in here and they still outnumber them if the citizens don’t decide to step in.

Sam and Bogo approach steadily behind as well, perhaps content at watching their own people handle it but the numbers seem just a little larger with them there. Lupin and Clawhauser are the only other ZPD in the room, but even they look ready to quell any undue violence.

“So what’s it gonna be?” Nick asks. “The choice is obvious, really, but I wanna hear you say it.” His knowing grin only furthers Jackson’s hatred for him.

Perhaps the logic could have worked on them, perhaps it might have already, but Jackson isn’t a man for words. He cranes his neck back to his men. “Ross said no exceptions,” he grins at the clever fox as his smile fades and Jackson gets one of his own, “so we take ‘em by force.”

His fist lands on the counter where Nick and Judy were, but they quickly shuffle away as the room erupts.

Judy doesn’t spare the time to consider any further convincing, opting instead to lunge at Jackson’s horn. When she latches onto it, she swing around it in one-eighty degree turn, ending it with a tug as she pulls the large mammal to the floor with her. Nick follows up by leaping then falling into his gut, winding him as Nick lands.

Judy watches Jackson’s head rise from the impact in his stomach, so she slides underneath his head then presses her feet to the back of his head. With a quick push, she sends his head up again, as she rolls away. Nick jumps from his gut then plants his feet onto the stool behind him. With Jackson’s head in the air, Nick quickly lunges forward to catch Jackson’s horn like Judy did, slamming the back of his head into the tiled floor, effectively knocking him out.

A hyena tries to tackle Clawhauser but the leopard only grins when he leaps at him. With a quick inhale, he shoves his gut at the airborne canine, sending him flying back and onto the floor. “Please, I’ve dealt with goons tougher than you,” he taunts.

A bull decides to charge him instead but Judy drop kicks his legs, causing him to lose balance. Nick slides along the tiles to grab his partner before she’s crushed. And as the bull lands in a heavy thud, Clawhauser sits on his back, causing him to “oof!” before groaning in pain.

Bogo blocks a quick hook from a deputy grizzly bear then grabs the same arm so he can pull him in so he can shoulder check his chest, pushing him back. He then gives the bear a proper left hook in return then sends him careening into a booth.

He turns to Sam to aid her but she’s already choking her second deputy who quickly taps out then drops to the floor, wheezing as he does so.

Their eyes meet and then she shouts “duck!” Bogo doesn’t even see who owns the fist that swings overhead, and before he can even turn around, Sam slides over his ducked back to kick his assailant in the jaw.

One of the deputy hippos decides to charge Nick and Judy but Lupin tries to counter tackle, charging at him in turn. Nick and Judy shout for         Lupin to fall back because the wolf isn’t nearly strong enough to take the hippo’s weight, and the hippo knows this. But then a billy goat tackles the hippo’s side instead, injuring him and sending him rolling next to the downed rhino.

The melee continues as the civilians join in, Carrie even managing to knock out a hyena with one of her mugs when Lupin tackles him into the counter.

Soon it becomes apparent that they’re outnumbered and outdone. Jackson slowly wakes and when he sees the way a civilian grizzly face checks one of his allies with a cushioned stool, sending him sliding to his feet, he decides to call it off.

He has them retreat and they quickly scurry out of the room, still being pelted by some displaced items and food stuffs. One cheeky customer throws a mug, prompting Carrie to yelp at said citizen, saying “Hey! You’re paying for that!”

Cormick himself collapses onto the counter as he glares at the deputies driving away. “Bunch of bullies. A wussy doesn’t stand for what’s right…”

Carrie leans onto the counter beside him then kisses him on the cheek. “Don’t let them get to you.” He glances back at her as she giggles in his direction, and suddenly he’s at a loss for words.

There is some cheer amongst the citizens but the ZPD do not join in the mirth. Most of them collapse back into their seats, some eying the cheer with some mild amusement that quickly dissipates.

But the somber attitude between them is lost to Cormick as he happily perches himself on the counter before Nick and Judy who decide to lounge on the stools. “You guys were amazing!” he exclaims to them, Carrie beaming beside him.

They only spare the pair a quick smile before soddenly glancing at each other. That, on the other hand, does not go over his head. “Guys?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

Nick sorely wishes that they weren’t so young, the honest bewilderment to them is disheartening to say the least. With a quick a sigh and a nod from his partner, he swivels in his seat to regard them. “Look, I know that may have looked like comedic _good guys beat bullies_ scenario but let me be clear, Jackson and his ragtag group of friends aren’t the enemy. They’re some of the good guys gone awry.”

Carrie and Cormick are confused by this. “What do you mean?” Cormick responds. “They’ve been bullies since high school.”

“Yeah,” Carrie adds, leaning against the counter, “I say they deserved that beating.”

“Oh, they totally did,” Nick agrees, “but that’s not the point, kids.”

Carrie almost makes to argue about her age but catches the hard glint in Nick’s eyes. She silences herself quickly, giving him an attentive look.

With a sigh, Nick continues. “Back there… Jackson tried to crush Judy with his fist.” Judy doesn’t shift, her expression more disappointed than anything else. “He fully intended to harm her enough to get us out of the way, to use fear to stop us from interfering. A desperate power play to retake control of the situation.”

Judy speaks up, swiveling around to look at them. “And he’s like, what, twenty-two, twenty-one? He’s young, they all are, and does it really seem like they’re the kind of people who’d willingly pick a fight with the police?” Cormick shakes his head. “Didn’t think so…”

Judy eyes the cracked tile in the floor, and is – in the very least – glad to know that there isn’t any blood on it. But even though no one walked out with anything serious, they hate to resort to fighting back just to subdue them. All because Jackson was hungry for rage, to want something to occupy his young, irate mind with something else. “Were they ever so violent in school?”

“Um… well, no, not really.” Cormick’s features scrunch as he slowly shrugs. “They were rough but never really… _violent._ ”

Judy’s tilted lip worries them, and then she fixes them a concentrated expression, pulling them in so they listen intently. “Tensions are rising and people keep needing to blow off steam. We’re fine, really we are, and it was good to loosen up these muscles but… there’s no denying what that rhino tried to do and just how much of a kick the customers in here are getting out of that foray.”

“None of this is normal,” Nick is quick to add.

Carrie can’t help but feel a little defensive, words spilling out of her mouth before she can think on them. “We just beat back a crowd of assholes. How is none of this not normal to you?”

Nick sighs, leaning into the counter as he fiddles a salt shaker trying not to appear fretful. “This isn’t a TV show, Carrie. Those were kids who were afraid of losing what little control they had, led by someone who necessitates control so he doesn’t lose it completely. What happened back there was an act of desperation in a town where stability is now a rare commodity.” Nick turns to the still celebrating crowd, laughing and talking amongst themselves as they relay their involvement with each other. “No one here feels it’s strange because they’ve been here before. The younger ones notice it the least because they didn’t really understand it at the time but it’s just as familiar. Carrion’s first walk through this town did terrible things to these people, I imagine, and they’re reacting to his presence as most would. This town is losing it, resorting to violence just to quell some of that fear. And as you can see,” he gestures to the customers, ”we’d gladly surrender our sense of morality, of beating young adults into fleeing in fear, just so people can forget the real problem haunting this little town of yours.”

Carrie gives them an apologetic frown as she eyes the usually docile townsfolk, some quite old, and flinches at their mention of striking someone so hard they fell to the floor. “Jeezus…” She then looks at the discarded mug fragments along her counter, shattered with her own hands. “Shit, I’m usually more careful with my stuff…”

“Try to keep yourself together,” Judy offers, “places like this diner turn into hubs for people looking to escape a desperate situation so it’ll become gradually more important. What happened was an unfortunate fluke and we’ll do what we can so it doesn’t happen again, but we’ll need you and your people to keep making sure this town doesn’t go off the rails.”

Places and people that contribute to the stability of the town becomes more and more important the longer Carrion is around. Necessitated further with the collapse of the station and simultaneous attacks on the town heads with the ‘ _you made it easy’_ fiasco. And they can feel it in the wind, the foundations of the town coming loose as if ready to collapse on top of them. And with the way things are going, it might not even survive Carrion’s next provocation.

Carrie feels a great weight being hefted onto her shoulders, looking at them nervously. “I’m sorry, I’m not like Calvary or even like Marshal… I’m not sure I can help keep a town together like that. I don’t think I’m cut out for what you’re asking.”

Judy takes her hand, smiling softly up at her, but before she can speak, Nick chuckles. “You worry too much,” he says. “All we’re asking is that you keep doing what you’re doing. People are gonna start depending on you but you’ll neither be tasked beyond your abilities,” — he rotates a surprised Cormick to meet her eye-to-eye — “nor will you be alone.” The pair blushes at each other, shying away with a nervous laugh.

“You’ll be alright, Carrie,” Judy says. “Just be here for the town like you always have.” Judy knows for a fact that she loves this place to bits, even when all her coworkers quit and skipped town, she stuck around for the locals. And it’s clear then that Cormick recognizes that, looking up at the lynx with a promise that he won’t abandon her, that he’s here for her if no one else will.

Nick and Judy leave them at that, not even sparing a glance at them as they return to their own booth.

“This is getting out of hand,” Judy whispers to him as they approach Clawhauser in their booth, who is trying to calm down a nervous Gizelle.

“You’re telling me,” Nick says as he slides into the seat with her following after. “This town isn’t gonna last much longer if we don’t fix the issues with the station.”

“How do we even fix a rift like that anyway?”

“Well, Ross is the real problem here. He empowers for the wrong reasons. It looks like the only real reason they chose him over Creed. With him they feel like they can justify everything that they’re doing.”

“Hm… Makes you wonder who’s empowering _him._ But that knowledge doesn’t mean anything if we can’t convince them to leave his side.”

Ben flops onto the table, chin resting on his arms as he looks at nowhere in particular. “They would if they knew what we do about Ross,” he suggests.

“If we told them, no one would really believe us,” Nick says, slumping back into his seat.

“We’ll need someone who listens to both sides then,” Judy offers. “Someone everyone respects and is clearly impartial. Someone who could turn his subordinates against him when they find out what he’s planning.”

“Ooh! I know!” Gizelle spouts excitedly, quickly shrinking when she realizes that they’re looking at her. Though she doesn’t see it, Sam can hear her from across the room and quickly excuses herself to approach.

Gizelle coughs nervously before continuing. “Ta’darie Laeonne, er, _Deputy Tali._ Way I hear it, they’ve been getting real close lately. If anyone has his ear, it’s her.”

Sam is suddenly beside them, hearing their conversation on the way. “You’re gonna have to get someone impartial to talk to her then,” Sam suggests, “cause according to Javan, she’s head over heels for the guy too.”

It makes sense. Tali is an impartial element, despite some bias when it comes to her love for Ross. But that’s entirely a subjective matter, so someone on the outside is going to have to make her look at this objectively, turning her away from her feelings in favor of the town.

But everyone clearly has picked a side. And if the ZPD have somehow remained neutral this entire time, after what just happened, they certainly aren’t now. Someone else needs to approach Tali and get her to confront Ross and end his coup…

Then all eyes, shift to the skinny little gazelle who sips her espresso, blinking and sputtering shyly when she asks what they’re staring at her for.

Judy fixes her with a soft, pleading look as she places her hand over hers.

“Gizelle, we could use your help.”

**~~~**

Instructions, Gizelle is very good at following them, but a task like this requires a little more charisma than creativity, and she’s not yet too adept at pulling that out of the air. So she takes steady breaths when she approaches the door, stalling for just a little longer.

The last hour has been dedicated to her preparing for this meeting. Instructions from the ZPD have been helpful but no less comforting. She fully understands the task at hand and its importance in subverting some chaos to ease the tensions in town, but it’s basically like telling her that if she fails, things will only get worse, and _fast._

Miss Ta’darie Laeonne — _Tali_ as she’s more popularly and preferably known — is a veteran in the station and has been for long enough to earn herself her own office in it, and the door to it seems to glare at Gizelle when she enters the station, prompting her to bite her lip.

She summons courage she doesn’t have to quell her nerves, every step feeling weighted and uneven, echoing the beating of her uneasy heart.

But what fears there may have been are replaced by a twinge of irritation when she notes the sheer fanfare brimming off the eyes of some of the onlookers about her. She suddenly remembers why she hasn’t gotten close to this place despite the looming threat of Carrion, the deputies of this station are still fans of her cousin and that’s only a few dozen more people who don’t see her for her. And the sensation of creeping into her skin is only furthered when they whisper amongst themselves.

“She looks just like her.”

“I don’t think so. A little ragged and tighter on the hips though.”

“Think she can get Gazelle to sign something for me?”

“She’s so ugly by comparison! If she ever decides to clean up after herself maybe then she’ll look half way decent.”

“You’re just jealous the guys are looking at _her_ and not _you._ ”

“It’s like looking at the real thing!”

That last one stings particularly bad but she soldiers on despite, eyes transfixed on her goal as her footfalls are aided by her contempt for those around her. But then the deputies begin to crowd, blocking her way. The first set of hands that appear suddenly before her pushes a notebook into her chest, begging for her to get her cousin to sign it. Another demands she confirm that she’s legitimately a Ripple. Then she is flooded by them, fans and skeptics alike, forcing their way into her personal space.

The sheer noise filling the air threatens to shatter her composure, clutching her hands to her chest as she does what she can to quell the crowd. But her excuses, the plethora of “I don’t have time,” or “I’m sorry, I can’t” go largely unheard as they won’t take no for an answer. She is about ready to scream when some of them start arguing, with her and amongst themselves, and the tempo thrumming in her ear gets louder and louder till she swears that she can’t even hear herself think.

“Gizelle!” comes the unison greeting of Barnaby and Clementine, both of them suddenly taking each of her arms.

“Glad ya’ agreed ta’ come by!” Clem says, the goat tugging her along and away from the crowd.

“Now I know you’ve a lot o’ questions,” Barns says slowly, almost matter of factly, “but we thought you oughta find someplace a little quieter for it.”

At first Gizelle is only further terrified but the pair seems odder than usual. Their words make no sense and she is thoroughly as confused as the crowd. But then some semblance of relief overcomes her as she’s guided towards an adjacent room, the deputies behind making no move to chase after her.

Clem opens the door, overwhelming her with the cold wafting from the room. She blinks through it and in that momentary distraction, she is quickly deposited into the room, essentially being dragged in by Clementine as Barnaby swiftly locks it behind him.

“Uh…” is all Gizelle manages to say as she blinks at the two who double check the lock on the door, their expressions going from ecstatic to apprehensive at the drop of a hat.

Barns sighs and leans into the door, sliding down as his partner sits on the table beside it. “Please don’t tell me that’s what we looked like,” Barns groans to the air and it takes Gizelle a full minute to realize that he is asking her.

She never manages to answer as Terence walks into view, his mere presence hitching her throat. “Thanks for that, guys,” he says to the two as they give him a tired smile.

The wolf then faces her, looking her over. She knows he’s doing it to check for injuries but her imagination gets a little more creative than that.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

She nearly stutters before she manages a relaxed sigh, slowly taking a seat as she shakes her head. “A little weak in the knees but I’m fine.” She smiles at him, a sign of hers begging him not to maintain his steady eye contact so she can keep breathing.

He hums his affirmation, cautiously looking over her still, so close that she can feel his breath pool over her shoulder when he flicks off some lint sitting there.

“Sorry to cut this meetin’ short,” Barns says, drawing their attention, “but we’ve work to do.”

Clem quickly takes Barns by the wrist and tugs them both towards the back door, smiling at the pair as she does so. “Take care of her now, alright Kaenid?” she calls out, not even letting him answer as she winks at them through the doorway, Barnaby shutting the door behind them.

She tilts her head at the door they just left through. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, well they have this theory about the memorial and… that’s not what you were asking. Sorry.” He laughs at himself embarrassingly, earning him a giggle from her end, mired in second hand embarrassment. “Well, I guess they’ve… grown up whilst trying to deal with this case.” He shrugs, and she hums as to accept his answer.

Honestly, she still doesn’t quite know how to feel about them. Or even _him_ for that matter, and she’s worried that her sheer awkwardness is making it obvious, especially with the way she’s shuffling in place. But when her eyes rise to meet his, she finds that he’s looking elsewhere, lost in thought somewhere else.

“I should get back to work,” he says plainly, returning to a table with blood samples spinning in some device.

It’s then that she realizes that she’s in the cold of the forensics room. And the room feels stagnant, slow, as if she can wait for hours here and the world would not have moved an inch. It’s quiet, comforting in a way, and she can let herself go here.

She thinks about what she needs to do and why she needs to do it. And the pressure is on, making her lose what confidence she might have conjured up, quickly lost in her quivering frame as a vast multitude of imaginary scenarios play out in her head. Some are simply exaggerated, others simply impossible, but she always imagines herself failing, and daring to hope that perhaps someone might come in and solve it for her.

But Nick and Judy had made it abundantly clear that it’s all up to her. And she holds herself gently at the thought, not quite sure if she’ll ball up and cry, and yet has every certainty that she would not deliver on the request given to her.

She can still somehow hear the noises outside the door, but she knows the room is soundproof, but she can’t shake the idea that it is the echo of such earlier torments that lets her still hear their rancor, her own mind conspiring against her. She swears it’s her anxiety that was making them seem louder than they actually were too, surely they weren’t as overwhelmingly loud as she thought.

And it only tacks onto her actual issue.

She’s nervous, so incredibly and overwhelmingly afraid that her nerves turn weaker and weaker with every passing moment. But when she looks at Terence just a scant few feet away, she is surprised to find the determination behind his eyes, evident, bold, yet transparent like a ghost lingering off his frayed, haunted edges. There she sees his strength pressing on despite some pain walling up his emotions, weighing him down but ultimately never stopping him.

And she decides, in that brief moment where all she can do is let herself fall, that she should first find courage before she can grasp it and claim that it is hers.

Her delicate hands unfurl, her body relaxes, and she forces herself to forget how utterly terrified she is. She walks up to him with some elegance to her tiny little sways, and the words come out smoothly, like silk, and just as gracefully. “Hey, Terence?” And the words do not harbor her fear or her hesitations, none of her ticks or quirks.

“Hm?” His attention is fully on her, and again she finds herself unafraid, ready for his answer, prepared to brave the unknown.

She takes a quick breath and lets out a quiet little giggle as her eyes lock onto his happily. She honestly doesn’t know how to ask the question like any normal person would but she knows what she wants and thinks, “ _screw it_ ” and immediately says the first thing that comes to mind. “Date me.”

**~~~**

Tali has a habit of rearranging her office whenever her mind needs a good refresher. It’s a process that largely goes undisturbed save for the incident last February when Javan kept barging into her office whilst piss drunk for some inane reason.

The entire room would be rearranged save for her desk which always faces the door. Trophies and diplomas either hang on the walls or sit on the various shelves. Sometimes she’ll get creative and assign them in some complicated order like by order of relevance to a given case, or maybe she’ll create a story only she knows by the various objects starting clockwise from the door.

She is still sorting her books by date when Gizelle knocks on her door, subsequently letting herself in as she mouths an apology to a ragged Terence who is holding back her cousin’s fans.

“Oh,” Tali sounds, settling her books precariously at the shelf’s edge, “Miss Ripple, do please take a seat.” She gestures to one of her guest seats as the normally nervous woman thanks her as she takes the seat gracefully. And this disturbs her as Gizelle is normally nothing like this. And that’s still not as confusing as the idea that she’s in her office at the very station she was almost certain the woman has been actively avoiding.

“So what brings you here?” Tali asks, her face clearly televising her curiosity.

“Urgent business, I’m afraid, but nothing to do with reporting.” She watches the little woman carefully, as her meek demeanor lingers for only a moment before she sighs, righting herself quickly. “I’m sorry, Miss Tali, but… I’m about to break your heart.”

Tali blinks at her, her tattoos surprising Gizelle when she sees them meld together properly when her eyes shut briefly. “I’m sorry, Gizelle, but you must be mistaken. I don’t actually swing that way nor do I believe I’ve shown you any kind of affection.”

Gizelle gasps, her womanly hand touching her lips. “Oh! No, no, no, you misunderstand.” Her tone is polite but even, just a hint of seriousness in it to notice but not enough to make her suspicious. “Miss Tali, I’m here to talk about the man you’re in love with: Rostetler Rundi.”

Tali’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Miss Ripple,” she begins sternly, “I believe it would be best if you left things to the police. Whatever affairs we might have with each other we will well sort out ourselves.”

“I am not here to criticize your affections,” Gizelle again responds evenly, surprising Tali still. “If anything, it might seem that perhaps it would be best if you two find comfort in each other. Lord knows we all need a little of that nowadays.”

She blinks at her again, perhaps delighting in the idea that someone isn’t opposed to her affections to a recently widowed man, but she is still cautious, fearing where the conversation might go. “Then what _are_ you here for?”

A sharp inhale from Gizelle leads to the darkening around her eyes, a look transfixed on offering her message with all the intent and fervor that is required. The instructions play out again in her head, and Gizelle loosens a breath as her eyes harden. “I’m here to tell you about his theory, and why this coup of his is pointless.”

Tali squints at the little woman. She never liked the coup, yeah, in fact the idea of it is still appalling but Ross had assured her it was important. But she realizes that she never went much further into figuring out why it even needed to happen.  “Go on…” she says, leaning in on her nearly bare desk.

She bites her lip but presses on. _Here I go._ “He thinks Officer Nick Wilde is Carrion.”

Tali’s eyes widen, but more in disbelief rather than in horror, pulling back into her seat. “That’s utterly preposterous,” she says evenly, trying not to sound insulted.

“Crazy, right?” she asks, almost laughing at the idea as she parts her hair away from her eyes. “I mean, it’s really just… flat out insane. And the repercussions of it? Imagine how the deputies would react if they ever found out that Ross started this coup riding off an inane theory that makes sense to no one but himself.” Her exposition is much like a conversation with herself, laughing at the idea a little, as if she is still trying to come to terms with the idea. But that’s the thing, she already has come to terms with it, all she’s doing right here, right now, is trying to mirror the conflicting ideals swimming in Tali’s head, an objective she’d been asked to achieve.

Tali’s inner turmoil boils into the conflict between her head and her heart, thrashing and mauling at each other as she suspends herself in disbelief, trying not to think about it. “Yes,” she says quietly and mostly to herself, “so very, very crazy.”

“Then you can imagine how bad things would get if this was allowed to go on.”

Tali’s eyes turn grave once more, looking the girl over. But Gizelle has steeled herself for such a reaction, prepared for her every move. “I thought we were in agreement that it was just a crazy rumor.”

“I never said that. And I’ll be honest, given different circumstances, I would have scoffed at the idea myself. But imagine how much worse things will get, for this town and even for Ross himself, if his baseless coup came to a head. He’d lose his job and everyone’s respect, maybe even yours, and the town…?” She looks away, clearly far more concerned for the people around her than Ross. “More people will have died in all the time that’s wasted, all the resources spent on half the station fighting with the other.”

Gizelle lays a gentle hand on Tali’s desk, a gesture meant to plead, accented with her softened eyes and only barely hiding the aching little heart underneath. “I know you love him, and I can understand how much a person is willing to ignore for the sake of finding that love returned but… unlike me, I don’t have the lives of thousands depending on me. I can only imagine the kind of burden you have to go through, but you can’t let your heart tell you to ignore even the slightest chance that I might be right.” Gizelle at the edge of her seat, making sure her eye contact maintains as she hopes her point is made perfectly clear. “Because if I am, then this town is in a lot of trouble.”

Tali is taken aback, an amalgam of emotions ebbing off of her as her disbelief still holds the illusion over what might be a bitter, and grave truth. “There’s…” she says slowly, forgetting the words in her rising terror. “There’s no evidence.”

“There is, but there doesn’t need to be.” Gizelle is standing now, her composure lost in something lingering on the frayed features on her eyes, something familiar. “All you have to do is talk to him and find out for yourself. He can’t pretend to be honest with you and expect to lie to you later when it all comes out.”

Beyond all the logic, it is then that Tali realizes what it is that shades Gizelle’s features: fear, that same antiquated byproduct of Carrion’s curse, the same one that dots the landscape over every face, on every person, she is supposed to be protecting. Tali is reminded then that Gizelle is a civilian, and a scared one at that.

As if to worsen the emotions burning out of her chest, Gizelle continues, taking the lingering silence as adamant refusal to accept what’s been spoken. “Miss Tali, I am afraid every day knowing that I might end up dying here, that Carrion might take me away and I’ll be quickly forgotten, just another victim.” _Having lived and died in someone’s shadow, never knowing what it might have been like outside of it._ "But I’m still here because I know that somehow I can help. And that’s what I’m doing right now.” Her voice is hitched with something that might have been a sob, but she bites her lip and makes sure she doesn’t let herself go, genuinely trying to appeal to her rather than ask for her pity. “And I’m asking you to tell me, with all the certainty that you can muster, that I’ll be okay, that tomorrow I’ll still be alive, and that one day I get to go home…” Because all she wants is to help this town survive, and she knows Tali wants that too. “Please?”

Tali doesn’t speak when she stands up, her heart pounding in her chest as she stifles her emotions and steadies her nerves. She doesn’t know what to say to Gizelle, looking at her with an expression too disoriented to come up with anything resembling placation, but she knows she should thank her. And yet even that she can’t seem to do as her feet carry her out of the door, immediately catching sight of Ross talking to a deputy at her desk.

She then makes a quick beeline to him, her footfalls determined yet harried, as if her body is conspiring against her.

When she approaches him, he spares only a glance at her before looking away, pretending not to see her. But she isn’t going to have any of that, grabbing him by the shoulder, physically stopping him. He looks at her over his shoulder, mouth only minutely agape, masking his shock as he squints at her.

She is confused by his reactions but is too frustrated to mull over them. “We need to talk,” she says sternly.

He looks about, meeting some curious eyes who stare at him, and suddenly he feels very conscious. He then takes a detour towards the lounge kitchen. “What is it?” he whispers over his shoulders as she follows closely behind.

“I’ve been hearing this crazy rumor and I need you to be straight with me.”

He doesn’t make eye contact for the most part, slowly getting a mug for some coffee. He meets her eyes for a moment, an expression honest and true. “I’ve no reason to lie to you. Ever.” He punctuates it in a way she can’t deny has anything but affection, but she forgets it when he turns back to his coffee, determined not to maintain eye contact.

She bites her lip, leaning on the counter where the coffeemaker is, taking his free wrist to make him look at her again. “Ross… who do you think Carrion is?”

He fixes her with an incredulous look, caught off guard by the question, yes, but not in the way she expected. He shakes his head, a firm expression that tells her that she should have known the answer. “You know who I think it is.” He looks about again, making sure no one is within earshot as he continues to whisper for some reason. “Nicholas P. Wilde, John Piberius, or whatever other alias that viper’s tied to his forked tongue.”

Tali doesn’t have time to register how strange he’s being on top of his illogical theory, taking a single panicked step back as her heart feels heavier and heavier. “Ross…” her voice is desperate, the last vestiges of her disbelief refusing to fall away, clutching to it as she dares to let him convince her otherwise. “Do you even have any proof?” she finds herself whispering too, not quite sure why, tasting the madness she’s almost certain he has.

“Not yet, but I will. It’s him, I’m sure of it.” Her incredulous, horrified expression does not leave her, furthered by the way he keeps himself from looking at her directly, eye contact far away from her.

“You’re running this entire operation on a hunch!?” She clenches her teeth to make a loud whisper, almost screaming as her hands curl into her chest in an aching fist.

“Where is all of this coming from? You said you thought the same thing.”

“I didn’t say anything, Ross. This is news to me.”

He groans in frustration, grabbing a clump of his own fur on his head. “We talked about this.”

“We didn’t! We never did!” Her clenched teeth are starting to hurt, and she can feel her eyes starting to wet. She’s far from tears but her eyes are so strained and intense that she’s afraid she’ll erupt from her rising fury alone.

And it’s clear he’s losing himself too, nearly slamming the mug as he lets his hands run up his face and dig into his skull. He looks at her one more time, eyes demanding that makes sense and all he can do is bare his teeth in frustration as she confuses him just as much as he’s confusing her in a frustrating back and forth that boils into his blood as he shouts, “Damn it, Eli, whose side are you even on?”

“Eli?” Her eyes darken, her gaze narrowing as her heart stops and the fury is lost in what can only be described as pure, unadultered pain. “ _Eli?_ ”

Javan approaches them, looking between the two as he presses a hand to Tali’s shoulder, pulling her back from him. “What’s going on here?” he asks.

Ross realizes too late that his little outburst didn’t stay quiet, and now all present are looking at him, but when his eyes drift back to Javan, he doesn’t find the words, transfixed on Javan’s hand still on Tali’s shoulder more than anything else.

And again he makes no sense to her, and Tali can do nothing but fall deeper and deeper inside of herself, features quivering and burning into her skin as she clutches herself for comfort. She never finds her tears, and her eyes burn further instead.

“Ross thinks Nick is Carrion,” she says quietly.

“What!?” Javan looks at him with the same incredulous expression but again the man can only confuse her more as his shocked expression shifts between the two, as if something else is occupying him and not the words she’s spoken.

A deputy lounging on a sofa close by laughs nervously as he approaches them. “You’re, uh…. _joking,_ right, Ma’am?” He so desperately wants her to be but Tali’s sodden expression inspires no confidence in it.

“No, I’m not,” she says slowly, tone so bland that it’s almost expressionless.

“But—“

“He says he’ll have proof,” she adds quickly, hands still clutching her arms, slinking back the tiniest bit as if to hide in something.

“Well, Ross,” Javan prompts, crossing his arms at the puma, “what proof _do_ you have?

For a moment Ross doesn’t speak but his eyes stay serious as he momentarily loses track of whatever nonsense he had buzzing about him. “Nothing yet, but—”

“Nothing?” Javan whispers first, leaning in with a tense expression vivid enough for all the room to feel. “ **Nothing!?** ” He steps forward, pressing a finger to Ross’s chest, their eyes meeting dangerously. “You carved this rift between our people for a baseless theory which _still_ has nothing to back it? _Damn it,_ Ross, people are dead because of this divide and all this time you’ve been on a wild goose chase!?”

Ross doesn’t even flinch under the rhino’s scrutinizing gaze, and perhaps he may have had a plan ready to shift things back into his favor, what with all the deputies staring at them, but Tali slowly comes between them, and Javan can do nothing but politely step back as the woman stares up at him.

Ross’s eyes soften as he looks down at her, somehow sparking a headache so incredible dense that his terse narrow gaze looks pained.

She takes his hands in hers, a gesture that surprises him again. She clutches hard before looking up at him, feeling suffocated, choking back something as she pleads from her bleeding heart. “Ross, _please_ tell me what’s going on.”

Out of everything, she is only left with more questions when all he focuses on is their conjoined hands, finding that his fingers linger between hers, as if still unsure of something. So ejected from reality is he that when he looks back at her, it’s as if he’s staring at a ghost, shaking his head as if rejecting the sight before him, as if he’s rejecting her.

And then, without warning, he pulls back and out of her grasp. He is ragged and panicked, shocked and mortified, his posture lost somewhere in the brief moment between them. And it’s then that he bolts out of the room, much to their continued confusion.

The deputies about them treat it with a mixture of equivocal confusion. Some of Creed’s loyalists start acting haughty and righteous, but those from Ross’s end aren’t so quick to give up on him, but their resolve for the now clearly mad man is fading. The adjacent rooms then erupt with a familiar rancor, though certainly less violent than before. And the noise fills the air, some of it joyous and friendly, the divide in the station slowly merging back into its own.

Javan can delight in his work as he messages Nick and Judy about how things went according to their plan, but then his eyes drift back to Tali.

She stands there, motionless, hands still at her sides as she stares into the floor for long minutes. He makes to touch her but she snaps at him and slaps his hand away. But then she realizes that it’s him and not Ross.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly before walking away.

In the dark of a lonely hallway, Tali still finds no tears as she walks purposefully out of the building. Her heart hardens as she eyes the town about her, the dreary parking lot so barren that it lets her breathe into the open sky, begging for something, anything, to quell her fears and the bated breath burning in her throat, threatening to scream.

It’s then that she realizes that Ross’s car is gone, and some semblance of her erstwhile hopes still linger after him. And so she pulls her own car out of the drive, and heads in the direction of his home.

**~~~**

Ross stumbles into his home, hands clutching his stomach as he fights back the nausea swirling around his furious headache. But for all his resilience, he finds that he does not have any left in the face of this.

He only barely manages to get into the kitchen when he hurls into the sink, missing it first as he manages to get some vomit on the faucet. Lazily he lets the water wash it away, cupping some water to fall onto the faucet, then splashes some onto his face.

His fingers run down his errant features, pulling off some of his sweat, cleansing himself of some of the filth he can still feel lingering on his tongue and throat.

His hands grip the steel frame of the sink and feels it bend and give under his flexing fingers, curling into it as his mind struggles to make sense of his world now.

There are other emotions he’s sure he’s feeling. Pain, treachery perhaps, defeat and a veritable plethora of others retching its way into the amalgam of senseless thoughts in his erratic mental cocktail.

His entire body feels diseased, infected by some errant curse rolling through his damp fur, sinking into his freezing skin. So he stumbles upstairs, fists clenched as he leans against the walls, slowly dragging himself into the bathroom.

The hot water that pours over him in the shower steams against his skin, the heat filling the air as he inhales it. It comes with some sense of clarity, his mind soothed by the gentle caress of some illusory warmth, feeling her hands snake around him like she used to, delicate little fingers pressing into the center of his chest and feeling the contours between his abs.

Slowly his hands rise to meet hers, but his fingers only sink into his own fur. His eyes open as he stares into the ceiling, realizing that the warmth he feels is only in the water and not her.

The hand pressing into his chest slowly slides up his neck and stays there. He lets the fullness of his fingers take the sheer girth of his thick neck, the flesh beneath feeling fragile and vulnerable. His claws slowly slip out to prod at his own flesh, the sides burning at the dangerous sensation becoming more and more tempting, beckoning him to press on and end it.

But then his eyes close, and he can feel her hand on his wrist. He doesn’t dare to open his eyes, letting himself sink into the delusion as her gentle touch feels more fragile than it’s ever been, trailing down his arm to stop at his forearm. And her thin arms somehow tug his down effortlessly, his terrible strength wilting at her familiar touch.

And when his eyes open, she is gone once again.

He slips out of the shower, dressing himself properly with a clear head and a sound mind that doesn’t thrum dangerously at his temples. He even picks up his scattered clothes and deposits them in a hamper in his room.

Then he turns on his vacuum and runs it over his floor, feeling his domestic desires return to him for long enough to remember who he was. The young man with dreams of a family in the suburbs, of love that wafts ever present in the air that cleanses his soul, of a warmth that silences demons and turns dreary, stormy nights into background noise to the sheer presence of her every whisper dancing to the symphony of her heartbeat that mutes out the world to fill her with it.

And then his door opens and he can see her standing there, panic and confusion shading her piercing green eyes, her bated breath, ragged and worrisome. She even jumps a little when the door clicks shut behind her.

And again she feels off, not quite sure what’s different or wrong about her but his heart, at this point, simply refuses to even dare to try and decipher it.

She doesn’t say a word when she walks into the room, letting herself catch her own breath as one of her hands clutch nervously at her other arm. She bites her lip, perhaps pushing herself to find words or maybe begging him to find them for her.

But he needs no words, captivated by the sight of her once more, and it is with an overwhelming sense of affection do his feet move one after the other, quickly scurrying to her, coming to an abrupt halt when he presses her back to the door, giving her a chaste kiss as his hands find her cheek and waist.

Their eyes meet for a brief moment in the dark, the same confusion and pain gilding them, a bitter mirror seeking comfort, needing that warmth as desperately as air.

Then he kisses her again, lips parting as his hands begin to wander her body which rises to meet his, her own hands transfixed on his chest before sliding up to hang onto his neck. His right paw finds a taut breast, the tip hardening over her sleeveless top. It’s larger than he remembers, his full palm pressing into it, making sense of the shape, forcing his lust to overcome his sensibilities.

His other hand wanders down to her lower right cheek, pulling it into him as he lifts her off the ground into the door, her own legs wrapping around him to accommodate. His fingers press into, noting its smaller yet thicker shape much fuller in his grasp, heavier than he remembers, but perhaps he’s gotten weaker these past few days.

Her tongue is energetic, a new and exciting quality he can’t help but lose himself in, an irresistible need fueling them both as they moan into each other’s mouths. Heat pours out of their bodies as their nethers press together, her moaning into the air as she parts from the kiss. Her wetness is evident, and he wants it, craves it so desperately that it’s all he can think about.

She leans in to meet his lips again as she slowly undoes his pants, belt-first, his eyes locking onto her in the dark, blinking with every gentle loving kiss.

**_Once._ **

_He’s desperate and in pain, his old world like a pipedream that will never be his, and his world now like a cold, lonely nightmare that will never end._

**_Twice._ **

_Neither one of his lives feel as if they are or ever have been real. His body, lucid yet weightless like a specter possessing a body that is not his._

**_Thrice._ **

_Because he died when she did… and she can’t possibly be real._

Clarity, it comes too suddenly for the rest of him to catch up, but his bated breath and the heat pouring off of his body like an erratic musk, only manages to distract him for a moment longer before his headache vanishes. He’s dizzy when his senses come back to him, and the darkness of the room melts away in his adjusting night vision.

And then when his belt is undone, he gasps and pulls back and away from the door. But to his horror, he finds that he is not alone in the room.

She is there in the darkness that cleaves into the door frame. Her eyes are the only thing glistening in the shadows. And he is mortified when he finds that her eyes aren’t green, but a deep brown.

“Ross?” says the woman in the dark, her voice terrified and desperate, about ready to sob as she shakes her head in frustrated confusion. “Ross, please tell me what’s going on.” Her words echo back to him, just like it did back at the station, and his eyes widen when she steps out of the dark and into the light.

“Tali?” he whispers, and his askance tone irritates her more, as if he was talking to someone else. The kangaroo tries to step closer but he backs away again, feeling as if his mind and body have betrayed him.

“Ross?” her tiny, choked voice manages to say. “Please talk to me.”

His headache returns and suddenly he sees Eli again approaching him. But the illusion isn’t real, he knows that and he hates it. And can’t bring himself to let her got close.

So he shakes his head and runs, bolts through the door and down the hall.

And Tali, left alone in the room, falls to her knees.

Defeated, with a burning sense of heartache hitching her breath, her head rises to catch the moonlight gleaming over a picture frame on Ross’s bedside table, a photo of Eli and Ross happily married smiling at her.

“I always lose to you, don’t I?”

Ross himself stumbles down the stairs and even manages to trip over the last step, head slamming into the wall as his body sinks in the ash covered floor below, wind billowing over his body as the ashen air wafts over his frame.

His eyes blink away the pain as he pulls himself up. He eyes the door beside him as it slowly opens to the wind, and there he can see his burnt garden, specks of grey littering the floor like snow cover, the distinct smell of burnt flora still winding into his nose.

Scattered about the clumps of dead plant life lay remnants of his life he never managed to fully destroy. The shredded cork of a baseball from his childhood, the cracked glass from a picture frame that used to house his diploma, a tiny melted rubber tire from his old toy truck. And in the center of the garden, where the skeletal frame of a gazebo lay displayed around, stood Eli in her evening gown, staring into the night sky with a sullen expression frozen on her face.

He quickly looks up the stairs and realizes that Tali hasn’t left his room, and with an erstwhile hope perhaps lost to time, he stands up, pushes through the door, and slowly approaches her.

His hand extends weakly after her, hesitant still as he is yet unsure of himself. “Eli?” he whispers, calling out to her desperately, but she doesn’t turn, eyes still skyward.

“Eli!” he shouts, hoarse throat coming out dry as he tries again. “El, please… please talk to me…”

And for a moment her head turns, eyes drifting in his direction, but then she looks away again, as if rejecting him. And he knows she should, he knows that the man he is is no longer worthy of her, and he reaches for her anyway.

His feet wade through the ash, bogging down his movement as he struggles to meet her, take her in his arms again, to embrace the madness and see her and only her. Cracked glass scrapes against his leg, causing him to yelp, bleeding lightly into the gray pile.

He’s almost at the center when his foot catches onto a displaced beam beneath the clutter, falling to his knee.

He looks up to her back, feels her warmth radiating off of her, and he clings to the hope that he might feel it again.

But as his stretches out to touch her, she is gone in an instant. Like a light bulb flashing suddenly in a dark room, Ross finds grim clarity, an unwanted sense of sanity screaming at him to accept that she’s gone, and that he’ll never find her.

But his pain pours into the open sky as he roars the fury burning in his throat, rejecting reality and its cruelty, demanding that what was taken from him be returned. Tears roll down his cheek, streaking over the gray dust that mats his fur, screaming his denial into the world around him.

All his pain turns to anger, all his sorrow boiling down to an errant fury, and his teeth clenching as all he can do is want his due, desperately clinging to some purpose yet.

“ _You did this to yourself,_ ” he hears himself speak from behind.

Ross, more terrified than he’s ever been before, turns slowly to see himself standing before him, another hallucination that’s taken Eli’s place.

He is clean, proper, wearing his favorite flannel shirt. He is the picture of health and control, a family man and a husband, a friend and a loyal servant to the community… everything that he was before all this madness, the man Eli married, the man he stopped being.

Wide, furious eyes burn into his skull as he screams at the apparition. He tackles him, rejecting him and his existence, fists beating into his cheeks as his anger pours into every strike. But the other Ross does not bloody, does not wound, and all Ross can feel is the pain in his knuckles.

Then his vision blurs and all that is clear is the clear crimson over his fists, bleeding with pieces of rock having scraped across it. His fists unfurl as his fury begins to die, his madness coiling into his every being in its place.

The other Ross, the old Ross, then walks before him, staring down at the mad man with nothing but disappointment in his eyes, forcing him to look at him like a mirror.

Ross takes a stone from the dirt below, covered in his blood, and tosses it at the other Ross, the stone slamming into the door.

A broken scream escapes him as the reality he cannot bring himself to accept tears away at his remaining sanity, slowly turning the husk to ash until Ross is no more, and the errant wraith demanding vengeance beneath the wailing corpse is all that is left, his grip on reality now lost to the wind and the harried evening sky.

**~~~**

A great wind passes down the roving evergreen valleys that stand like hairs, through the thick forest thickets that flex like bones, through the town proper where townsfolk buzz about like blood in the veins, through City Hall’s whistling halls of the state like a pair of lungs, and into the thrumming of Stable Village like the still heart of the town, and out the great lonely road at the exit, Bronc Town seems to breathe a great sigh of relief.

Ross is no longer an acting weight on the town, and the deputies find themselves a unit once more. Elliot Fispatch, the deputy lion who has done nothing but cause trouble, has openly apologized to Ilia, and Anya, the wolf deputy who tried to strangle him, is doing reconciling of her own. Rumor has it that both of them have agreed to get therapy together to work things out.

An is released that evening as well, quickly falling into Terence’s open arms, before she shoves him aside playfully and tackles Calvary. They vow to try again when all this is over, but for now they’ll keep things professional.

To further quell disturbances, the ZPD have agreed to train the deputies on areas they lack at, and the new joint venture has made it easier on everyone.

To top it all off, the Hectors have invited anyone who’s willing to join them at the swamp for a hefty round of ill-advised drinks in a dangerous area, and Nick has willingly volunteered to join them along with An who will most certainly catch up after she has a night out on the town with the girls.

And so An takes Judy, Gizelle, and, much to her confusion, Liz Waterdale out for drinks down at the Rogue’s Gallery.

And somehow the atmosphere and the bubbling mirth of all those present manages to make the women who have been hasty acquaintances fall into an easy sense of camaraderie.

Because no one can sing and it’s an embarrassing affair until Liz manages to get the mic and wow the crowd, An can hit the bullseye of a dart board without looking, Judy can balance anything on her head including three glasses stacked beneath a nervous little otter, and Gizelle can dance, as in breakdance, and well.

But none of them drink heavily. An intends to get drunk when she joins the Hunting Club with Nick and the Hectors, Gizelle and Liz are lightweights and Judy simply intends to start off tomorrow’s work with all her faculties intact. And yet they laugh as if they have drunk too much, they dance, and talk, and sing, pushing away tomorrow’s inevitable torments to make tonight memorable, to drink to little victories and to drown sorrows they’ll worry about in the morning.

Sitting in their booth, the crimson leather seating them in a circle, An scoots over to Gizelle who regards the grinning wolf shyly, but her sheepish demeanor vanishes beneath reddened, alcohol pressed cheeks when she sees the kind look on the usually vulgar wolf’s face.

“So what do you know about Terry?” she asks, leaning on her side towards the meek little gazelle.

“Enough, maybe? I guess more than most people in this town, I suppose.” Judy and Liz take particular interest in that line, curiously lending their ear to it.

“So you know about…?” An leads on, hoping she understands.

To their surprise, Gizelle doesn’t blush, leading them to believe that perhaps that aspect of Terence isn’t in any way lewd as one might expect from anything An suggests. “Yeah... I do,” Gizelle says slowly, disappointment in her sodden eyes.

“And he still let you…?”

She blushes at that, her ears and cheeks burning cutely as she twiddles her thumbs. “He said he liked it. Even… well he grabbed my, uh….”

An laughs, patting her on the back. “Don’t strain yourself. I have a very _vivid_ idea of what you mean.” She winks.

Gizelle can only blink at the wolf. “Oh, right, I forgot that you two were—”

“—fuck buddies,” An finishes quickly. “Trying to make it sound any more flowery would just be, I don’t know… _incorrect,_ I guess.”

“I thought you loved him.”

There is no real sadness in An’s voice, perhaps having long accepted it. “I am of the opinion that he never truly felt the same way.”

“Oh…”

“Look, just don’t let it discourage you. I’ll help you out. You got him to ask you out, right? Well I might be able to help you use that to your advantage. If it pans out, he might just keep coming back.”

“Uh,” Liz intones, unable to remain silent much longer. “What are you two talking about?”

An rests an arm around Gizelle, surprising her only the tiniest bit as the wolf leers at her. “Well, Terry asked Gizelle here out on a date.”

“I kind of asked him to,” Gizelle admits, trying not to show any shame for what is ultimately an adorable little quirk he finds endearing.

“I’ll be honest,” Judy says, toying with a straw in an empty glass, “he never really seemed like the kind of guy who was even remotely interested in romance.” Sure he took Gizelle out to the best quiet spots in town so she can hide in them, but beyond that he always seems very work-centric, like his mind is hardwired to consider the job first over everything else. A familiar inclination, she admits.

“Well the workaholic hasn’t found the right one,” An shrugs easily, ultimately admitting Terence’s lack of interest in romance. “I’m just hoping Gizelle manages to get through to him.”

“Why did you two break up anyway?” Liz asks suddenly.

An’s suggestive demeanor takes a backseat at the question, a tone to her that is only as serious as it is lukewarm. “Me and Terry… well think of us as two parts of a different whole. We were perfect for each other, once upon a time, but we hated the people we were. So one day we decided to make a change and agreed that we were no longer compatible. We wanted to be better people, but we knew that, at the end of the day, we wanted it in different ways. It’s like getting on a different train but heading in the same direction, understanding that we didn’t need each other that way to get there. Not anymore, at least.”

Judy can understand that. Though she’s never gone through something like that herself, she can tell that if Nick stayed the way he did, he would have never considered even being _friends_ with a bunny, let alone have one as a partner whose life he regularly puts his hands in. He’s a different person now, a better one, perhaps much like the scout kit he used to be. But despite that, Judy can’t help but feel curious about An’s previous statement. “And yet you’re certain he never loved you? Even back then?”

“Well I knew that Terry always needed a hole and I always needed mine plugged.” Her nonchalance about her own vulgarity makes both Liz and Gizelle a little uncomfortable, but Judy herself isn’t bothered by it in the slightest. “But… it was like he was always _missing_ something, you know? Like the experience was always incomplete to him.”

Liz twiddles her thumbs at that, not quite sure how “complete” her relationship with her boyfriend, Reeder Hamilton, is. “How do you know when a relationship is supposed to be complete?”

“I don’t know,” An shrugs. “I guess when you stop needing to ask yourself if it is.”

Judy doesn’t miss the way that statement makes Liz uneasy but she decides that perhaps whatever lesson she is struggling to accept will come to her soon enough. And yet she decides to comfort the little otter anyway, reaching out a hand to grab her by the shoulder.

They never manage to exchange words, however, as An scoots over to them. Judy is wary of An’s serious gaze but is certain that she is prepared for anything she has to say.

Surprisingly, though, Gizelle is the one who asks first. “So Judy, real girl talk here, what’s up with you and Nick?” The question catches her off guard but she honestly really shouldn’t have been.

“Yeah, would ya fuck ‘im?” An is quick to add, earning her a collective stare from the group. “No, I’m not teasing! For reals, Cutie, would you fuck him?” Liz and Gizelle thankfully ignore the nickname, far more focused on Judy.

Perhaps it is the relatively juvenile nature of the question, echoing to her days first flirting with boys in high school, or perhaps it is the mirth filling the air, the pleasant little haze that plunges them into their own little world, but Judy cannot help but giggle right there and then. “In a heartbeat,” she says with a smile, ignoring the lewd quality of the question.

“Really?” An asks, leaning in her direction. “There any more meaning behind that? Or do you draw the line at bed?” Her question is clearly serious, genuine even, giving Judy pause.

“Well, no, not really. I’d sleep with him cause he’s genuinely attractive and I’m certain he knows how to please a girl.” Her manner-of-factly tone kills any excitement the group may have gotten out of the admission, because she’s basically saying it’s purely sexual, which is certainly not what they were expecting, or were hoping for.

“So… you _don’t_ love him?” Liz asks, sitting atop the table beside An so Judy can face them all at once.

“That’s not true.”

“You love him enough, we know that part,” — Gizelle says, a hint of impatience egging her on to get to the bottom of this — “but can you be absolutely certain you’re not _in_ love with him?”

“Well, are you sure you love Terence?” She doesn’t know how to answer that question. “Or you with Calvary?” And neither does An. “Exactly my point. I do not yet have a grasp of what love between a couple is supposed to be just yet. Maybe I do want more from him. Maybe there _is_ some deeper meaning from me wanting to sleep with him. Maybe the joy I feel when I’m near him means more than I thought it might. But I can’t take the plunge and see for myself if it is, that would be too selfish of me. Cause unless I know for sure that I love him _that_ way, the parts of me that love him for sure and for different reasons make it that I can’t bring myself to jump in even on the off chance that I might hurt him if it turns out that this _isn’t_ love.”

The fact that Judy has chosen to skip Liz on the partner calling does not escape her, and she is thankful for it, giving Judy a polite smile. Gizelle’s own smile is apologetic, perhaps for the little outburst or for simply pressing on, it doesn’t matter, Judy forgives her all the same. But An…

“I love him,” An says suddenly, running her fingers through her fur with some mild frustration. “I know it might be desperation or whatever, I know we might just both be sad sacks right now looking for some company in bed so we don’t have to sleep alone, but… ugh! _Fuck it!_ I _think_ I love him and if I don’t then, good God, I’ll _make_ myself love him!”

Judy doesn’t know if she should, but she raises a glass anyway. Maybe it’s juvenile to think that she can force herself to love, but perhaps it is also rather childish to assume you can ever know if you truly and completely love someone. Or it might be that love itself is naïve. The word has always been confusing, and maybe she’ll never figure it out, but all she knows for sure is that for as long as she and Nick have each other, they’ll be happy.

“I’ll drink to that,” she says, the resounding cheer and the clink of glasses signaling the start of a great night.

Minutes later, on the outside, of the Gallery, Judy tells them that she’s going back to the hotel to relax. Maybe she’ll call it an early night. Gizelle and Liz decide to tag along with An to the swamp to meet with the Hunting Club and, if he hasn’t left yet, Nick. But as they bid their goodbyes and exchange numbers before forgetting, An decides to catch up with Judy in the parking lot before she gets into the Austin Terrier.

“Hey, Judy, wait up!” she says as she runs to her.

“An? What’s wrong?”

The wolf appears a little distressed, almost unsure about what she’s about to say but presses on anyway. “Look, I didn’t want to say this in front of the other girls but… I think Nick is a big enough boy who can take rejection if it turns out what you feel isn’t the real deal. I also think that you owe it to yourself to find out anyway. Who knows, maybe it’ll work out.”

And with that, An bolts off towards the other girls. Judy herself is quickly left alone, sitting in her car as she thinks about it entirely too hard. She then shakes her head and drives off, considering that perhaps a conversation with Nick when he gets back might sort out her feelings for him whatever they might be.

**~~~**

Nick comes to the party fully intending to break his promise to Judy, that he would just try to relax and not think about work, but the minute he meets them at Buckshot so they can drive off to the swamp, his mind goes into overdrive, eying every gun they load into the truck bed, watching every subtle movement for anything suspicious, and picks apart every word out of every sentence that is said to him or just overheard. _I’ll apologize to her later,_ he tells himself as he slips into the camper shell, sitting himself in the center of the partygoers so he can hear them all, wishing he had even a fraction of Judy’s exceptional hearing; again it reminds him of her, and makes him feel just a little more apologetic for it.

But then the trucks pull out into the road, the evening air filling with laughter that bellows from their great lungs, and all too soon does Nick find himself with a drink in his hand even before they breach the tree line. And as the elated atmosphere sinks into his tense muscles, he finds himself relaxing into the pillow he’s sitting on, cracking enough jokes to almost get one of the passengers to roll out of the truck bed.

Some of their faculties dissolve when the motorcade manages its way into the thick, muddy pathways of the swamp. Though littered with mostly dry land, it is difficult to go very far without seeing any deep lake where gators might occupy.

They pass by a little cottage without any windows which catches Nick’s attention. It’s relatively clean looking, even in the dark, and the electric fence that hugs it at least appears operational. Though the lack of windows is somewhat disturbing, the porch with its forgotten mug of coffee and half-eaten French bread is every indication that the place is lived in.

“Whose is that?” he asks Marshal Hector beside him, whose eyes are distant, perhaps a little slurred by the empty whiskey bottle in his hand. “Marshal?” he asks once more, laying a hand on his shoulder.

The baker’s son almost yelps as he’s brought out of his stupor, catching his breath slowly as he laughs when Nick gets concerned and apologizes. They shrug it off and Marshal only barely manages to see the cottage in the distance as they drive passed it. “That’s Spruce Wamancht’s place. Zootopian, much like yourself. Came by outta nowhere a few years back. Mostly keeps to himself but he seems to know ol’ Sheriff Creed so folk generally trust ‘im.” Marshal’s gaze is again far away, eying the distant cottage with an expression Nick can’t quite decipher. Melancholy, perhaps, or sadness. “He’s a good man, if the stories I hear have any truth to ‘em. Old Monty used to come out here when the old goat got a hankerin’ fer game, but one time he got too cocky and messed up a shot. Spruce pours out of the swamp and saves his life, he does.”

Nick crosses his arms skeptically. “Almost sounds like he keeps a close eye on this place.”

“Yeah,” he laughs sadly, “just about nuthin’ gets passed him around here.”

Nick’s concern is evident, bogging down his features as he looks up at the usually elated pig. The light in his eyes appears to have vanished. He doesn’t know what happened, and perhaps will never know him enough to be told, but he’ll try anyway. “You alright there, Marshal?”

Marshal, realizing that he hasn’t been very subtle, finds Nick’s concern with little comfort, aptly ruining Nick’s mood with his own. He wants to apologize for it but instead he surprises himself by confessing his qualms. “Aw, it ain’t much to fret about. It’s just…” It takes him a moment to speak, as if he’s still considering if he should even speak up or not. “Well, Carrion’s still out there and we’re heading out into a dangerous swamp.”

Marcus had given them every assurance that the spot is clear of gators and that they’ve come here to do the same thing before and it happened without incident. “I thought the spot we’re getting is safe.”

“It is, but it’s still got a lake folks can fall into when they’re not careful — and I don’t need to tell you how careless drunk folk can get — plus the whole club couldn’t resist bringing their guns and I’m certain they’re all loaded.” Nick is suddenly very conscious about the weaponry at his feet, shuffling upwards to the bed’s railings where Marshal’s sitting.

“I get where you’re coming from though,” Nick says after a moment of silence. “I understand that it’s a little strange that everyone’s trying to pretend the whole town hasn’t gone to hell.” His own gaze falls to the misty stars overhead, thumb rimming his whiskey’s mouth. “But even in my few days here, it’s clear to me that this town needs every little comfort it can get. I know it might seem impractical now, but you’ll be thankful you had moments like these to look back to.”

The trucks stop and the motorcade releases its flood of occupants.

Nick’s words do little to quell whatever demons that consume Marshal’s thoughts. But as polite as the pig is, he only manages a weak smile before they part ways off the truck. Nick stays back to help unload but Marshal walks off alone in the direction of the lake. He doesn’t go after him, deciding that it would be best to give him space.

But Marshal doesn’t manage to stay alone. Marcus spots his son walk solemnly towards the lake, fearing for him. So he hands his crate to one of his friends before going after him. Nick watches on for only a moment longer at the two before going back to unloading, but not before taking another quick swig of his whiskey, more of an excuse to reset his sodden expression rather than to wet his lips.

Marshal skips a stone over the still lake, disturbing the waters until the stone plops after a third skip.

“What’s wrong, son?” Marcus asks suddenly, hand resting on his shoulder.

“Carrion,” he says simply before he sighs, sitting down at the water’s edge.

“Try not to fret so much about it, son. We’ll get through this like we always have. Soon enough it’ll all go away. All we gotta do now is survive till then,” – he looks back at the crowd behind them, slurring and laughing their fears away – “and make the most out of a bad situation.”

Marcus fixes him with a determined look before he walks, leaving his son to his own devices as he watches the moon’s reflection in the water.

And for a moment his skin crawls, dreary and haunted as he feels a bitter sense of dread creep up on him. He would jump at shadows were he not so resolute deep down, but that does little to quell the fears he’s long since let consume him. And yet he cannot deny that his father is right. Because Carrion, as it seems, might very well be a continuing presence and that now, like he did ten years ago, Marshal would have to steel himself for the sake of those around him.

He looks back at Nick who’s helping prepare the fire with a meek little Gizelle who is paying careful attention to his instructions. Marshal knows that he upset him, though he’s certain that it didn’t really bother him all that much, but that’s beside the point. Because Marshal Hector doesn’t let these things lie, and he’d much rather not let his character be sullied by things he has no control over. Hectors soldier on despite, they do not dwell needlessly on grievances or pains.

He approaches them but he pauses when Gizelle manages to light the fire, much to her surprise. Nick applauds her and his eyes quickly fall onto Marshal then but before either of them can speak, An walks in with a few crates of beer. “Hey, big guy,” she calls out to Marshal, “give a girl a hand?”

He spares a glance at Nick who shrugs with a smile and gestures for him to go to her. Marshal nods in thanks as he takes a detour to her. “It would be my honor.”

It isn’t long until they descend into their merriment, about half of the entire motorcade having already been tipsy with a choice few already quite drunk, to which Hector only joyously intones a hefty laugh, perhaps a little more proud than he should be about how willing they are to lose their faculties. A few of the older men start pulling out their guitars to serenade to the silent night they’ve been blessed with. They sing old songs about simpler times and stupid little problems that feels like a life time away, but the sadder they feel inside, the louder they sing.

Then An takes one of the guitars and starts strumming. They expect her to sing but Liz slips from her invisible spot besides Gizelle and climbs onto An’s shoulder. She almost climbs atop her head but quickly decides not to. Nick chuckles at that, no doubt in him that Judy probably showed them one of her many talents, a balancing act being only one of them. Liz then sings her heart out, the notes her little throat can manage surprises the lot of them.

There is laughter and rancor when they finish, a demand for an encore is evident, but Liz is far too flustered to muster up any more courage. Marcus comes to her rescue, telling them not to pressure the girl before he takes the guitar from An and plays something himself.

Nick sits over by Marshal on a log, watching as his father sings an old song he used to serenade his late wife with.

“You don’t play guitar?” Nick asks him.

“Nah, Ma had other ideas about what instrument I should be playing.”

“Oh? So what else did she have in mind?”

“Piano.”

 _What?_ Nick’s head turns slowly, terror lancing through his spine as a cold chill passes through him, momentarily relieved at the fact that Masrhal isn’t making eye contact, content with staring into the fire. “You’re pianist?” Nick asks, managing to sound nonchalant.

Marshal scoffs easily. “Not me, no. Never had the patience. Sad to say that I declined my late ma’s offer to focus on schoolwork.”

“Oh…” Nick isn’t quite sure he believes him but Marshal is so nonplussed with the crucial information he’s dispensing that it throws him off. Perhaps he’s lying and is actually talented in it like Carrion, but if he was Carrion then he could very well have just kept this information to himself and not draw any attention. Or perhaps he’s simply telling the truth and... maybe the late Karvina Hector had taught someone else how to play. “Did she by any chance pass it on to anyone else though?”

He takes a drink of his beer, licking “Oh, yeah. She and Auntie Mona used to teach a whole bunch o’ folks.”

 _Mona Creed? That makes sense._ He was told only three people in town knew how to do it, but perhaps there might be more. “Like who?”

“Well, let’s see… Miss Willow for one. She ended up teachin’ her own kid how to play, way I hear. He should be a high schooler by now, I reckon. There’s an otter named Japeth Whitewood, real prodigy that one, even had a thing for little Kayla. Oh! And he’s back in town too, livin’ in the aviary down on Perigreen Street.” He takes a moment to ponder, devouring a smore. “There’s Senior Deputy Tali, but I think she just about quit when her job got more demandin’, but I hear she’s been trying to teach _herself_ nowadays. Then there’s Calvary but he was mostly self-taught. If I’m being honest, I think he just wanted to show off at the time. Was real sweet on a girl back then, can’t remember who, but they were some sort o’ power couple back in high school. She was a closet pianist herself, whoever she is. Real shy about her own talent.”

The idea that any one of those pianists might be Carrion sends a chill down Nick’s spine, excitement or fear, he can’t quite differentiate them. And he even considers finally that perhaps Calvary’s story might have been fabricated. And that woman he used to date? It could be An and she might have been in Bronc Town in her high school, it’ll all be but confirm it if she’s a pianist. And if it’s another woman? Well she might just end up being their major suspect, dejected from all the uncertain intricacies of their current suspects. So many red flags, a million and one theories forming all at once, and his head, swimming only mildly with alcohol, begins to churn uneasily.

“Nick?” Marshal asks, alerting him back into attention. “Lost you there for a minute. You alright?”

He doesn’t know how to answer, mind so muddled that words fall away faster than he can feasibly form them. “Uh…” He loses his composure somewhat, his usual cool lost to him. “Sorry,” he finally manages, “I think I may have drunk too much.”

Marshal accepts the excuse with an affirmative ‘Hm’, and without any suspicion of Nick too.

“Hey, Handsome,” An calls out to them from behind, turning the tease into a nickname he is certain he will never get used to, “mind giving a girl a hand? I need to make a delivery.” She hoists up a crate of beer and a bag laden with Savory confectioneries and smores.

Nick gets up to join her and she smiles when he does but before he can make his way to her, Marshal raises a hand to stop him. Nick notices the gesture immediately. “Nick, about earlier, I… well I suppose it’s unfair of me to spoil a good time when it’s clear we’ll have little of it in the days comin’.”

Nick sympathizes with him about as well as he does with the rest of the town, which is at length. Because he wishes to stay as an observer to their torments instead of feeling them, but he’s failing that, he knows, Carrion’s curse having already snaked into his senses, causing him to be jumpy at times. But unlike them he can see the end of the road, perhaps for the first time in this case since the day the first kidnappings began. And with that, he can speak with confidence. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Give it a few more weeks and we’ll catch him for sure.”

Marshal is reasonably skeptical. “That’s a tall order, Nick.”

“But it’s one I intend to keep.” He’s hoping his confidence would be enough to win him over. “I can feel it, Marshal. We’re so close to catching him.”

“Hurry up, fox boy!” An shouts from behind, already part way down the road. “The longer we wait, the less alcohol I can get to chug down!”

Nick turns back to Marshal and sees a glint of hope in his eyes… or something else. He isn’t quite sure but the despair is gone somehow, replaced with another emotion. Then he smiles, a genuine one that tears away at the sullen features, almost bubbling laughter into his cheeks. “Heh, you’re a strange one, Nick Wilde. But I suppose it’d take a strange one to solve a case like this.”

Marshal returns to the campfire as Nick walks away to join An, looking back one more time to make sure the smile on that man’s face is still there… and it still is.

He joins An as she slowly trudges through the dirt road they took to get here. She hands him the beer, telling him that putting her too close to it would only tempt her to chugging a few before they arrived. Nick himself doesn’t favor alcohol, it clouds vision and impairs judgment. The only exception would be for social reasons, to garner camaraderie in mirth. And right now he longs to do it again with Judy.

An notices the way he’s sort of lost in thought, a smile to his lips that she’s much too familiar with. “So… I wanted to ask you something,” she says as she scans the trees on her side, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Hm?”

“Would you sleep with Judy?”

He grins suggestively. “Already have.”

“W-what!?” Her sputtering amuses him enough to laugh at her expense. “Nick, I’m serious!” Her using his actual name is also amusing to him, and she catches the way he grins at her, making her curse at him.

Maybe it’s because she’s gotten back with Calvary to some degree, and it’s made her soft. “Okay, okay, being serious… yes, I would.”

An blinks at his sudden shift in tone, clever and smug is one thing but his easy speak is a nice surprise. She didn’t think the way his lips curving upward only by a fraction would make him look cuter. She shakes her head, reorienting her train of thought. “So…” she begins, trying again to appear casual as her eyes drift away, “why haven’t you already?”

“I don’t know, I guess we never really… _needed_ to?”

An blinks at his honest answer. _God they’re weird._ “Never needed sex? Seriously?”

He shrugs. “Well we’re happy where we are and what we have. We already feel fulfilled and certainly don’t need any more attention from the world since we’ve gotten famous. But about just sex? Well I never really felt like I needed it. I’ve spent so much of my life just trying to get by that just about everything else has fallen into the background.”

“And yet you say you’d totally fuck her?” She tries to leer at him but he shrugs it off easily enough.

“I would. It’s not like I don’t find her attractive but it’s not like I feel the need to. It’s not a need, and it’s barely a want. So if it happens, it happens, but I’m not about to crave for it.”

She takes it for what it is, honestly a little confused about the two of them. They’re just so brazen about the whole sex thing but don’t have any of the wanton craving for it, which makes no sense to her. But she shakes it off, deciding to finally gun for the reason she’s dragged him along with her. “Do you love her though? Like the way a man would with a woman?”

And again he shrugs. “I guess if I was ever gonna love anyone, it would be her.” And again he gives her an easy answer. She isn’t quite sure if she should be skeptical or if she should just take it like it is.

“I’m… confused. Do you love her or not?” She tilts her head at him as he turns his eyes skyward, lip tilting.

“I love her. More than I ever thought I could with another person. But I’ve never really felt love like this, if this feeling even _is_ love. So maybe I am in love with her and just don’t know what _that_ kind of love is supposed to really mean. I’ve never been in territory like this before.”

“You’ve never been with anyone else before?”

“Oh, I have, but… they were all so juvenile or sexual back then. Mind you, this was all when I still had my parents to depend on. I stopped actively having a romantic relationship of any kind after I decided to take on the world on my own. I think I was… fifteen then.”

“You’ve been fending for yourself since you were fifteen?”

“Yeah, but I’ve been a conman since I was twelve. World kind of lost its mysticism then.”

An resists the urge to confirm the rumors about him being an ex con; questions for another day. “Sounds jarring,” she says with a hint of pity. “I guess if you’re finally finding love again, you might just feel like a kit jumping back into it all of a sudden.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” he says.

It is by this time that they make it back to the electric fence and the windowless cottage. The building sitting ominously with lights still on.

“We’re here,” she says, pulling out her phone and pressing it to her ear.

“Spruce Wamancht?” he asks. She’s surprised he knows the name. He’s really more surprised he managed to pronounce it right.

“Yeah, the gator watchman around here. I managed to get him drunk enough once to figure out why he’s here.”

“Really?” Nick asks curiously. “So what did you get out of him?”

“Someone in Zootopia, he wouldn’t say who, sent him here to keep an eye on someone important. But the guy manages to stay here with pay and without needing to work. Plus he’s a trained marksman so he makes sure he gets any gator before it gets the chance to sneak up on anybody here. Says he’s got surveillance all over the swamp too.” She pulls down the phone with a grunt as it goes to the tone, attempting another call.

“Explains the lack of windows. It’s like a giant basement! But it must get really lonely being a hermit out here.” He looks at An curiously, intrigued by the mysterious man. “Doesn’t he sound like a suspect to you?”

She almost laughs at the statement, amused by the idea that a guy like him should be taken seriously. “Spruce? Ha! No way. Guy’s an honorary hunter in our club, and he’s got perfect attendance to all our meetings, and _those_ are well documented. We’ve shared the records with Sheriff Creed and he’s the only one with enough time stamps to confirm he’s not Carrion.”

“What about everyone else?”

“Everyone else actually has a _job,_ so no one else could be discounted.”

He raises a skeptical brow. “Who even sets up a meeting when everyone’s at work?”

She tries to call a third time before regarding Nick again. “Quagmire Green.”

Nick winces at the name, one of the first suspects to their case who just turned out to be a quirky old man. “The guy who built a metal gator with live ammunition as teeth?”

She chuckles. “As you can see, he’s got a lot of time on his hands, but he’s an art teacher who sometimes decides to not show up to class and… well, he sometimes doesn’t show up to meetings.”

“You’re club’s almost dangerously colorful.”

An forgets to crack a joke about his statement when her call doesn’t go through for the third time. “Ugh!” She walks up to the fence, careful not to touch it as she squints into the foliage to see if he’s sleeping there again. “Spruce?” she shouts. “Spruce, get out here you lazy fuck!”

“Shouldn’t a windowless building built for surveillance also be relatively soundproof?”

She groans. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She makes her way around the fence, gesturing for him to follow. “C’mon, we’ll just drop them off at his mail chute then we’re done here.”

They find a black box with a glass chute surrounded by metal casing near the ground where bits of the metal have been gnawed at by a gator. She slowly places the packages into the chute as they quickly descend down.

“Won’t that mess up the beer?”

“Hey, his fault for not picking up his damn phone.”

Nick eyes the building one more time before walking away with An. The place is built to survey the area, yes, but it’s really here to watch over just one person. Perhaps it has something to do with Creed or Smith coming to the swamp tregularly, or maybe someone else watches the place. All he knows is that whomever sent him here might have some information that could be useful to them.

He decides to take note of it for later.

An can see the business face he’s making and decides that tonight, he shouldn’t be thinking about work. “Hey,” she says, drawing his attention thoroughly. “I think you should sleep with Judy,” she says flatly.

He’s caught off guard by it, and gives her a confused look at the brazen suggestion, not yet sure if he should be taking her seriously this time, especially with that entirely non-suggestive tone of hers.

“Look, just… hear me out, okay?”

He shrugs. “Alright, what have you got?”

She cradles her arms, trying not to seem insensitive. “I… I see the way this case is getting to you and…” She tries to find the words that aren’t just straight up vulgar. “Look, I just happen to think that you both need a little pick-me-up right about now. Ease the tension off of you both.”

“An, I’m flattered you’re concerned about us but I don’t think either of us are in the right mindset to even go that far right now.”

She tosses one of two beers from her fingers into her free hand, then taps it to his chest. “Then stop thinking and chug, Fox Boy, cause you’ve got a lonely bunny waiting for you at the hotel and I stole her pills so she’s probably gonna be horny as fuck if you get there by eleven.”

**~~~**

Judy doesn’t remember ever being so restless, curling up helplessly on her bed as she curves into her errant hand pressing into her nethers beneath her nighty. She rubs up and down her vulva, the end of her palm circling around her clitoris, and it does spark a semblance of relief but it never feels like it’s enough.

She can feel the heat inside of her pulsate like waves in an ocean, consuming her over and over again with a renewed fervor each time, an overwhelming sensation with each passing wave, all equally intense, demanding satisfaction. But her mind refuses to commit to any image that might sate her.

Earlier she had attempted to just revel in the act of self-satisfaction, but even after numerous attempts to the point of exhaustion in her dominant hand, she still couldn’t come. Running water of varying degrees hadn’t helped either, only serving to alight her imagination as to who almost shared that shower with her…

She tried thinking of sexual things after that, imagining all sorts of masculine features that might entice her but neither girth nor musculature would sate her, the images of some generally attractive individuals doing nothing to quell her rising libido.

Then her thoughts turn dangerous, dwelling too long on ephemeral dreams about roving orange fur, his sleek, agile body both gentle and so deliciously _dangerous._

She tries her hardest to not think about him but her rising heat silences all resistance quickly, finding herself lost in the mental image of him. When he cradles her close, pressing her into his chest as his tail rises to encompass her, shelling her in his warmth. And as innocent as that thought may have been, it plunges her further into abandon, transfixed on the idea of him until her entire body aches for him.

She wonders how he would treat her in bed. Would he ravage her until all her body feels spent and satiated? Would he be gentle and nurture each part like stops in a pilgrimage, worshiping every inch of her as if she were divine? Would he scream, or whisper sweet nothings? Would he be slow and gentle? Would he fear breaking her?

And then she wonders about herself. If she would want him for herself so deeply. If she would want him to love her wordlessly, taking her on the signal of body language alone. If she would respond in kind, mimicking his movements as they explore each other’s bodies and —

—the door slams open, Nick slurring after it as he stumbles inside and falling onto the bed at her feet.

She wishes she could be embarrassed about her lascivious state, and perhaps the disarray of her apparel, but she can’t bring herself to pull her hand from between her legs, let alone feel self-conscious about it. “N-Nick?” she barely manages to whisper, looking down at him.

He groans, maybe burps once, (she can’t tell) but somewhere along the line he manages to intone the noise he’s gunning for. “Hm?” he finally says, looking up at her.

“P-pills…” she whimpers, volume so low that she can barely even hear herself.

He crawls up, dropping the bottle that was apparently in his hand needlessly onto the floor. He tries to form words of his own, his breath riding up to her so she can smell the cocktail of alcohol bubbling in his stomach. He gets to about her chest level before blinking his eyes in an attempt to look at her. He somehow manages to raise a hand then, cupping it around his ear to hear her.

“I…” she whimpers again, legs clamping almost painfully around her arm, “I need… my pills.” Her senses burn awake, doing little for her exhaustion or state of mind. Because he’s here, so close that she can smell his scent over the tertiary cocktail of alcohol beneath the furtive wetness in her hands. His musk wafting over her like a lure, begging her to beg for him. And as her legs quiver, twitching endlessly for her to press herself into him, she feels her resolve to resist trying to bodily ravage him slowly begin to fail.

He squints before hiccupping, eyes woozy as he stares into the ceiling before panicking as his head swerves about trying to find her. When his head finally tilts back towards her, he only manages to say “Where?” before surrendering the movement of his neck to rest staring at her stomach.

“Stolen,” she groans. She knows exactly where her pills have gone though. It was suspicious enough when An randomly asked about her cycle, furthermore when she’d bumped into her a few times when they were playing darts. She should have checked on it earlier but she didn’t think that even for a second that it might have become a problem.

Then she hears Nick laughing, and she can barely summon the strength to be mad at him. But her head manages to eye him down as he stares at her with a stupid grin, some renowned energy of his pulling out a tiny plastic bottle from his pocket.

Instantly she recognizes it as her pill bottle, eyes wide, desperately trying to transmit her incessant need for it, realizing that he must have stolen it back.

He seems to get the message as he drops it before her eyes, her free hand grasping at it as she convinces her body to relax and release her own arm.

She fumbles with the cap uselessly, spilling some of its contents. She almost gives up and uses her other hand that she pulls from her legs but then it is preemptively taken by Nick who is cleaning it with some toilet paper. _Since when did he manage to get into the bathroom?_

He scrunches up the paper and discards it, and she can feel her fingers dry between themselves. He then leans over to the side of the bed and pulls out a glass of water off the floor. With a quick sip, he passes it to her as she manages to sit up. She downs the pill, drinking the water after only as a courtesy.

He takes back the glass as he chugs the rest of it, setting it on the nightstand after.

Judy herself starts to feel her features relax, allowing her to crawl back onto the pillows, sitting up as the embarrassing situation starts to register in her head.

Judy’s blush is thoroughly ignored when Nick starts to slap his own cheeks, chasing away the alcohol slurring his mind. She watches him regain some of his faculties, turning back to her with his trademark grin, and instantly she feels her body react again. Like a deer caught in the headlights, her eyes go wide as she curls up her body to restrain herself.

Despite the pill, her body still wants him as the effects are taking entirely too long to take their full effect. “It’s not working fast enough…” she whispers, almost grunts.

He hears her easily enough, and his smile drops, a look to him that is uncertain, still trying to decide something. Slowly he crawls towards her, his heat radiating over her as she finds her tiny body overshadowed by his hanging over it. “I’ll take care of it,” he says.

She looks straight into his eyes before her, a whimper escaping her tiny lips. Her body slides down the pillow to lay across the bed beneath him.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he admits, looking away before looking back.

His eyes trace the shape of her parted lips and finds himself curious about them for reasons that seem logical at the time. He tilts his head at her, looking for rejection as he lowers his face to hers. But she doesn’t resist.

His lips find hers and his tongue slips into her already open mouth. Their tongues dance together, slowly and passionately, melding the two as Nick’s suspended body gently falls then presses on top of hers.

His heaving chest mimics her own, gasping as his hands meet hers, laying them beside her.

It’s then that her legs begin to wrap around him, tugging him further and further into her, as far as their clothes will allow.

Her racing heart then paces itself, their kiss becoming sluggish, their tongues slowly slipping from each other’s mouths as they start to laugh at each other.

And there, with some clarity returning as her heat fades away much too suddenly does she look up at him and giggle at his haggard appearance. The mess of his fur and clothes, his unbearable smell on top of his already apparent bad taste in borrowed cologne. “You smell, Wilde,” she says.

“Don’t get me started on scents, Carrots.” He leers at her suggestively, and suddenly she realizes that her smell has filled the air in the room. It reeks of her musk, and it normally would have been much more embarrassing for her were it not for the fact that it’s him and not just anyone. “Is this the part where we…?” he asks.

“I think it’s a little soon, actually.” She pauses for a moment, looking away. “But at least I know that you know how to take care of me.”

“Mhm,” he says, nodding, his half lidded eyes doing dangerous things to her, but none more dangerous than his hand slipping into her panties.

She gasps suddenly, his fingers work on her nether lips whilst his thumb rubs circles around her clit. She yelps as she feels her body convulse, readying for release, forcing her to clutch onto his neck, fingers digging into it.

She cums onto his hand, dampening her almost uncomfortably, her heart racing as she stares up at him with a desperate expression she’s sure he’s getting a kick out of. He gives her a smug smile and she can’t help but mirror it, pressing her forehead to his. “Don’t think you’re getting one back. I already said no.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, perhaps lying. “But-” he resists a burp “-I think we should get you cleaned up. Me too if there’s room.”

She’s so exhausted at this point that she doesn’t care about whether or not they share, and they do, the hot water washing away their baleful scents. Then the pair drags themselves out and into fresh clothes before finally collapsing onto the bed.

Together they wonder if they’d just crossed a line, if all that they’ll do together from now on might be haunted by this singular moment of estranged passion. But then, simultaneously, they decide that that would be quite silly.

He holds her still in his arms then, warm and comfortable as exhaustion finally takes them both, forgetting any regrets. Because she honestly could have just asked the front desk about some pills and he honestly could have just decided to arrive sober, but tonight is about forgetting the world, and they decide that even just a little indulgence isn’t so bad.

**~~~**

Judy wakes in the middle of the night, Nick’s arm lazily over her. She inhales the pleasant scent still wafting between them, wondering how far they’ve let themselves go.

Does she regret it? Of course not but perhaps they’ve fallen too eagerly into something they don’t yet understand. Love or lust, something is there and she can’t bring herself to decide which of the two it even is.

But then she tries to leave the bed and his arms tug her back in on reflex, and she is reminded that perhaps a label isn’t really all that necessary right now. They can figure out the intricacies later. So she turns to face him, pulling herself up to kiss his forehead. “Silly fox…”

At that he relaxes, letting her slip out of him, a look of longing to her as she eyes him over her shoulder.

She settles onto the sofa, her phone in hand as she flips through her messages, trying to get her mind off things. She isn’t tired per se, not anymore. Most of her night was spent writhing in sexual agony, but things have settled down and her entire body just feels rested, relieved even. Nick is to thank for that, his presence alone being enough to comfort her.

One of the more recent messages on her phone catches her eye, one from An. It’s a half-hearted apology following a clear indication that the woman bares no regrets for trying to get them to fuck. Then she asks if they did.

Judy rolls her eyes, laughing to herself, typing out a response she hopes wakes her up in the middle of the night.

_Thunk._

Her keen hearing picks up the sound of something rather hefty landing slowly on the toilet seat in the bathroom. Suddenly alert, she gets up, leaving her phone on the sofa. Perhaps it’s nothing, it likely is, but she scurries over to the door anyway, eying the lights pouring out of it and realizes that she and Nick had forgotten to shut the lights after they used it.

There is no hesitation as she casually opens the door to see what’s inside, and what she sees confuses her more than anything else.

“Ross?” she says, looking up and down the ragged man who meets her gaze with similar confusion. He appears to have snuck in from the thin bathroom window, and the signs of dirt along his thighs and chest indicate that he’s climbed the drainage pipe to get here.

Ross stares at her wordlessly, blinking slowly before turning towards something in the shower. He seems to snarl at the empty space, causing Judy to raise her fists defensively. She doesn’t know what triggers him first, but it hardly matters as he unfurls his claws and bolts towards her.

She anticipates the swipe he aims at her legs, her quickly jumping over them to knee his chin in a counter attack.

He stumbles back, bloodied eyes filled with murder as he snarls again, snapping at a shadow before lunging at her.

She easily jumps over him but he tucks into a roll, quickly recovering behind her. She doesn’t have time to react when his sweep kick slams her into the tiled wall.

Still dazed, Judy is lifted off the air by her head, but as he attempts to slam her skull into the wall, she raises her legs as she curls up her body to press against the wall instead. She resists well enough, and then manages to push off the wall to pull her from his grip.

Her back slams into his stomach, slamming him against the opposite wall. She tucks and rolls when she lands, watching the dazed man as he slumps to the floor with a repressed grunt.

He tries to recover, pushing off the wall to grab at her but she leaps onto the wall on her side and lunges at his head instead. He doesn’t manage to grab her as she uses the momentum to slam the back of his head against the wall once more.

With her feet planted on his shoulder and chest, she spins to kick him across the face, sending him to the floor.

She hopes it knocks him out but an extended claw of his swipes at her, making her jump back.

He crouches upwards quickly, sending another swipe her way which she narrowly backs away from.

He’s standing now, claws out as he glares at her. At the other end of the room, she sees the way his slumped head aligns with the sink. If she can kick his head into it, she could incapacitate him for sure.

She leans down, streamlining her body so she can catapult her way into his guard and send him careening into the porcelain.

She bolts towards him, preparing for the moment his claws swipe at her.

Judy jumps the moment she sees his arms flexing, but his body twists in a way that she can’t quite decipher in the split second that it happens. His claws then retract as she makes to kick, but then his body twists out of the way, his hand grabbing her face mid-air.

Then Ross pivots around, raising her into the air before slamming her head against the sink.

The blow impairs her vision as she finds her consciousness fading.

Ross tosses her over his shoulder as he mumbles to some invisible figure. Ross then exits through the door, quietly making his way out of the room as she stares at the light pouring out of the bathroom door.

For a moment Ross pauses, perhaps to stare at Nick still asleep in bed, still working off the alcohol.

“You’ll come for her, won’t you, John?” Ross says before swerving her vision towards the bed, Nick’s form barely visible in the haze.

“N-Nick,” she manages to say before the door closes behind her. Her sight of Nick is lost just as her consciousness fails her, addled mind begging for him to wake in the nightmare that comes.

**~~~**

Nick wakes at the crack of dawn, head still swirling from the mess of alcohol still trying to leave his system. He notices that he’s alone in bed but doesn’t bother himself with it too much as he hauls his still throbbing skull out of the sheets.

He sits on the bed, palms pressing into his eyes as he pulls himself out of the last vestiges of slumber.

His eyes slowly drift open as he scans the room for his partner.

He sees the light pouring out of the open bathroom door, which he finds odd. The light he’s sure he forgot to shut off then didn’t care when he had Judy cradled in his arms, but the door lazily wide open. Were Judy inside, she would have left it slightly ajar. Perhaps she’s inviting him in.

But then he hears the front door creak, wide open and shifting lazily.

Panic lances through his body but as he hops off the bed, his body feels sluggish and refuses to cooperate. He grunts in response, stumbling into the bathroom as he almost falls into it.

Inside he finds signs of a struggle, morning wind pouring out of the open bathroom window. Some of the tiles are cracked too, along opposite walls with varying sizes. The wall opposite the door has a small crack, clearly from Judy having her body slammed into it.

The wall adjacent to the door appears to have a more concave indent, consistent with the shape of a skull too large to be Judy’s. She likely struck him again since the floor has tiny splotches of blood, the assailant perhaps wounded from having his ear slammed into the floor.

He scans the room further and eyes the crack on the sink. He climbs it and sees the indent at its mouth, splintering over the porcelain. “No…” he breathes, despair leaking into his clenching fists. She’s survived worse blows but this one might have had the necessary impact to incapacitate her, certain that she’s been taken.

For a terrifying moment he fears that it might have been Carrion but then he realizes that her head being slammed at this angle requires someone much taller. “Ross…” he whispers balefully, the man in question being the only other one with enough motive to attack them whilst leaving him untouched.

He drags himself out of the room, following the light trails of blood tracking over of the carpeted floors.

He follows it down the hall and into an elevator, and immediately guesses the ground floor, the cold steel walls hampering the warmth he attempts with rubbing his arms. When he exits the elevator, some of the staff call after him but he doesn’t pay them any mind.

He follows it as the trail of tiny, far away splotches seem to angle towards the back of the building.

He passes by one of the sofas in the expansive lobby and finds a small white towel discarded beneath it, blood pooled into its center.

He leaves it be as he moves on, aiming for the parking lot down a dark hallway.

When he emerges from the back of the building, his eyes scan the area but then, right by that rear exit, he finds more blood on the floor just by the sidewalk. The car would have likely been parked here, and so he makes a beeline for the closest exit from there.

His feet then follow the road, dragging against the rough surface as his weakened, slumped body chases a ghost into the open streets.

The road is empty when he stands in the middle of it, sunlight pouring out of the distance and over the landscape. He stares into the long stretch of road, a sense of defeat choking him as he begins to sob, clutching his chest painfully.

And as the wind rises in the muted autumn sky, a tortured scream erupts from his aching throat as he curses the world, feeling more alone than he ever has before.

**~o~~~o~**

_Gizelle watches as Nick cradles Judy in her seat, sobbing openly into her hands. Memories of the ordeal are still fresh in their minds and she can see the way Nick is distant at the thought, trying to pry himself away from it. Gizelle then turns off her recorder and grabs them a pair of mugs filled with coffee, silently begging for their forgiveness as she mentally prepares herself for them to finish. Because what comes next is perhaps the worst day of their lives, and she isn’t quite sure she’s ready to hear the whole truth._


	18. Rapturous Desperation (pt. 1)

**Chapter 6 – Rapturous Desperation**

_I was alone in the world then. I was so afraid, and angry that… I didn't know what I was willing to do to get her back and… No, that's a lie. I knew exactly what I wanted to do but… what I thought at the time was that 'this is the moment that breaks me,' the one where I finally pull the trigger, but I was wrong. To think that after all Ross did, in the end it really was Carrion that threw me off the edge._

_~Nick Wilde_

**~o~~~o~**

Panic, fear, despair, anger, a veritable amalgam of emotions boil inside Nick's core, a cocktail of such overwhelming sensations that Nick isn't quite sure what face he's even making. All he knows with any certainty is that his breathing has been ragged since he walked out on that road, his heart pounding in his chest, thrumming like a war drum.

But his hands are sweaty, squeezing over the wheel as he tears through the near empty road, and it only takes a glance at the rear view mirror to see that his ragged disposition almost makes him look pale.

He's disheveled, a mess of a man, and a fox like Nick would never willingly go out in public looking like a haggard corpse, but all sense of decorum is quickly forgotten, the world out his window passing by like a blur, where the streets mesh together and the people are faceless, unimportant little details that barely even register to him.

He pulls out his phone and hits speed dial. It barely even rings once before Lupin answers. "Nick, hey, what happened? Your door was wide open and there's—"

"Judy's been kidnapped," he interrupts.

There is a silence for a breath's length before the wolf manages to articulate himself. "What!?" he says firmly.

Nick doesn't miss a beat. "I need patrols all over town looking for Rostetler Rundi. Have Chief Bogo coordinate with the Sheriff and cover as much ground as they can. And there's a blood trail from the hotel room towards the elevator, into the lobby, ending at the foot of the parking lot. Have the trail and bathroom canvased and inspected in case I missed anything. A crack on the sink all but confirms that it's Ross and not Carrion but there may be something else."

Lupin doesn't complain, a credit to his character, his unwavering loyalty, but the man on the other end of the line is no fool. He very well knows that Nick's reckless abandon to find and secure his best friend and partner will forge its own warpath. "And what are _you_ gonna do?" Lupin asks.

"Find my partner." He hangs up then, having said all he needs to. Nick's eyes fix onto the road, bearing hard as he pushes the Austin Terrier just below the speed limit.

He spares a glance at the passenger seat. The space she leaves behind haunts him, her warmth, her presence, there like a ghost, but cold to the touch with the idea that she might never sit there again. But the thought is folly, because if Ross wanted to kill Judy, he would have done so already.

No, Ross wants Nick, for a murder he deludes himself into thinking Nick is responsible for, and Judy is all but leverage to that end. And the idea sunders him. Not that he believes himself somehow responsible for it, but only that she might be harmed, irretrievably even. Or worse.

Judy is feisty, aggressive when the situation calls for it, and simply tying her up, he knows, won't work. He knows her, she'll try to escape, and if she fails, Ross might resort to graver methods of holding her down. _Just stay alive, Judes. I'm coming for you._

He wants to go faster, get to the station and move on already, his impatience fueling every tense muscle as temptation to break the law just to get there quicker slowly ebbs into him.

" _So what's the plan, Nick?_ " asks a southern voice in the air, the tone of a familiar friend in it.

His ragged heart slows only a little, calming his impatient nerves, dowsing what feverish fury he has bubbling up inside of him for a sparse moment of comfort. "Get everyone mobilized," Nick responds to the voice, "and grab all the information I can on Ross. Where he lives, what he drives, where he goes. They'll give me something, a place to start, maybe. Then…" he looks away, uncertainty gnawing at his already throbbing temple, turning his thoughts baleful and grim but forcing them away. "Then… then I'll find her."

As heroic as he may sound, the fact that he didn't say 'save' raises red flags, because he has no certainty of victory here, no assurance that he can even find Ross, but finding him isn't what troubles him the most. Because Nick is no superhero, he is not made of steel nor does he strike like a freight train, he is a man with limitations and flaws, and unlike those storied heroes, he is a realist who understands that finding them may be one thing but actually _beating_ Ross is entirely another. He is an experienced officer with years on his belt, stealthy and cunning, strong and capable.

" _Ya' sure about that?_ " the voice asks, disappointment in his tone.

Nick laughs sadly, sparing a glance at the rearview mirror, spying the sight of his late friend Smith sitting in the back. It is a hallucination he is grateful for, company for the long, arduous road ahead. "Losing faith in me, old friend?"

" _Nah, Nick, I never doubted ya' fer a second,_ " Smith says, suddenly appearing in the passenger seat where he can place a hand on Nick's shoulder. " _I have faith that you'll crack this case with that partner of yours, I have faith that you'll give my late soul some peace, and I believe you'll bring 'er back safe and sound." There is a pause coupled with a sigh, and in Nick's periphery he can see Smith turn to face him, eyes locking onto him._

" _But… despite all that, I'm worried that you_ _ **don't.**_ "

Nick's eyes crack wide open, glancing to his side to find that Smith has vanished. Nick shakes his head, the delusion still fresh in his mind, on him like a fever dream that is gone the next moment, a jarring sense of clarity returning to him as he feels himself becoming entirely aware of his surroundings.

He almost forgets how fast he's going when he sees the station up ahead. As he slows the Austin down, he checks the rearview mirror and the passenger seat, finding no southern oryx in sight. He stops in front of the station and, as he pulls out the key, he spots Smith at the corner of his eye, waiting by the front door.

He pushes away the thoughts as he bolts out of the car, speeding into the door.

The deputies inside stare at him as he makes his way through the middle of the room. "Alright everybody, I'm gonna need patrols all over town! As of last night, Senior Deputy Rostetler Rundi has kidnapped Officer Judy Hopps out of her own room."

Disbelief, it's all over their faces. As if the revelations from last night hadn't been enough, the idea that Ross has taken his insanity to new heights so quickly is just something they'll have to register _after_ processing what they already know. And perhaps his disheveled demeanor, including his lazily worn button-up shirt that is only tucked in on one side of his waist, does little to convey to them that he is a man of sound mind himself.

"Are you alright, officer?" one of them, a capybara, asks, approaching him slowly. "You… don't look too good." He looks Nick up and down slowly with frightful eyes, as if inspecting a potential predator.

"I'm…" He tries to settle his beating heart, his heaving chest still pumping in his still ragged breath. But then he pinches the bridge of his snout to quell another oncoming headache. "I'm fine," he almost grunts. "Just woke up to a mess, is all." He presses on and doesn't miss a beat, readying to smother all doubt. "A crack on the sink suggests that Judy Hopps was smashed into it from an overhead slam, dictating Ross's height and not Carrion's."

The eyes on him are more afraid than anything else, still not quite sure what to think, let alone believe, but he presses on. "There is a blood trail from her hotel room down to the parking lot, an ignorable amount that the staff has overlooked, but enough to leave medical problems so we'll need people asking about him at every pharmacy and the local hospital. The ZPD are already canvasing the trail itself, but it starts at a cracked tile against the wall, large enough to suggest that it belongs to a large mammal, perhaps Ross." He quickly pulls out a blood sample and hands it to a lemur beside him. "Have this brought to forensics to confirm if it's Ross's." The lemur nods before quickly bolting off.

He reaches the end of the room before the wall that lines most of the Senior Deputy offices, but the myriad whispers and lack of shuffling behind him indicates that they're still unsure of what to do.

Nick can't help but feel vexed at them, teeth grinding beneath his shut lips. Time is of the essence and they're wasting time being indecisive? Judy's life is on the line!

"What on earth is all this commotion about?" bellows the commanding voice of Sheriff Denzel Creed. He enters the room, a powerful presence radiating off the aged bear, his footfalls purposeful and thunderous, announcing him where his voice might not have. His glare is evident, causing the room to shrink before him as he stands beside Nick.

"Um," a lion starts, catching himself before he finally manages to speak. "O-officer Nick Wilde here has asked us to, um, patrol the town."

Creed squints at the lion who cowers at his pointed gaze and is all but relieved when his gaze shifts to the rest of the room, as if giving every individual the same look. "And he is acting head of this investigation, and as we are intimately tied with this case, we all take orders from him." His eyes rove over the room once more to affix his point. "And consider that a direct order from _me._ "

"But it's not _about_ the case!" Another dares to intone.

"Yeah," spouts a daring raccoon, "he's talkin' about how Ross took Officer Hopps or somethin'."

His head reels slightly, mostly out of curiosity. He looks at Nick whose expression is hardened and frozen, quivering with frustration. "And why does that change anything?" Creed asks them flatly.

"Because we can't be sure about his evidence," an otter says matter-of-factly. "We haven't seen it ourselves."

Creed pinches his snout, mirroring Nick as they mutually seethe. "After everything that's happened, you're all still so _incompetent?_ " He bellows, voice rising in anger, clenching his teeth and fists as if he is about to physically erupt, the crowd straightening in immediate fear. "Since when has _any_ of their evidence been anything but accurate? And the alternative? That he's _lying?_ What on earth makes you sorry sods think he'd do that in the middle of a fucking _**murder investigation!?**_ " He steps forward, his footfalls louder than they were, echoing along the hardwood floor as the crowd seems to back away as he nears. "And on top of all that," he says slowly, his glare so sharp that a choice few swallow at the sight, "someone is currently being kidnapped! Now quit your faffing about and _ **get to fucking work!**_ " His fist slams onto a table, the whole crowd dispersing at the sound.

He returns to Nick who is simultaneously relieved and terrified, his face can't decide which one to go with. "Uh, thanks, Sheriff," he says.

Creed raises a brow at him, finally noting the way his breathing seems bated and irregular. He thinks it's just nerves and looks out at the scrambling crowd. "Regulation count be damned, I'm firing them when all this is over…"

" _A little harsh, that, but well deserved,"_ he wants to say but time is of the essence and he can't spare a moment for small talk, especially since he wasted so much time with the deputies already.

"So what's this about Ross and a kidnapping?" Creed asks.

Nick blinks at him. He'd assumed that he came in for just that express purpose. "Chief Bogo didn't contact you?"

Creed shrugs. "He's at home, sleeping. Was patrolling all night with the rest of the ZPD."

Nick shakes his head, he doesn't have time to process that either. "Doesn't matter." He waves it away. "I need someone who knows Ross."

"That's just about everyone."

"One of them has gotten particularly close lately. A Miss Ta'darie Laoenne?"

Creed scans the room and spots Javan weaving through the panicking crowd. He calls him over, the rhino slips through the mass of bodies milling about him, and those who manage to shoulder him get an irritated snarl puffing from his nostrils.

He manages to squeeze his way to them. "Nick, Sheriff," he regards them, "what do you need?"

"We're looking for Tali," Creed says, "and I know for a fact that she isn't in her office."

"She's not in today. A personal matter at home." Javan responds, his tone evasive. "Why do you need her though?"

"I need help," Nick begins, speaking slowly and seriously, a pleading in his eyes coupled in his still haggard breathing, "Ross has kidnapped Judy and I need someone who knows him enough to catch up to him. I can't waste time. Please, if you know where she is, I'm begging you to tell me."

"You want her to help you catch Ross?" Javan can sympathize with Nick, and a kidnapping is nothing to scoff at, but Tali is important to him, a good old friend he's tried his hardest to keep out of harm's way, emotionally and physically. And right now she's more fragile than ever, and something like this might only make things worse. "I don't know… she's had it rough lately and I'm not sure how she'd handle that. He rejected her last night and I'm not sure what that kind of conversation will do to her."

Nick wants to scream, beg, and a million other things that he swallows down. He shakes his head, blinking away the pain still throbbing in his head as he looks at the rhino, heart tightening in his chest as he feels himself fail, his resolve thinning as his breathing quickens. The idea of losing Judy still fresh in his mind, haunting him as it tears at his skin, raking through every ounce of strength he has. "Javan, _please,_ the woman I _lo-_ " he gasps, choking on the words in a bitter despair he can't quite name, "…my …my partner might very well be dead and I can't just sit here wasting time trying to prove that what I need from Tali is absolutely _vital._ "

He sees the pain and desperation in his eyes – like Calvary's, like Tali's, like Ross's, – the kind that screams at the open sky, a bitter pain surging through every inch of their body. And he pities it, aches at the sight, and swallows his fears and hesitations for him.

"Alright," he says finally, "I'll show you where."

                                          -̸͏͏-̸̛̀͜-̧͟-̴̢͏-͢-̵̨̢͠͝-̵͘͞͞͡-̶̀̕͢-̧̛́͞͠-̶͜-̴̵͘͠-͝-̵̵̡-̵̧̕͝-̕͏̢-̷̕͝͞-̢̡̢-͜͜͠͝͞-̸̨͟-̧͢͝-̡͡͏͜-̶͜-̧̛-̷-̛̛-̷͝͠҉-͡͡-̵̨-̷̵͡͞-̴͘͝-̛́-̷̵̀-̧-̷̀͟-̵̢-̛̀-̵̛͏̕͝-̕͜͡-͏̸́͘-̨͘͠-̀͞-̵̢̨̧͠-̡̀͟-̶--̧̀-͘͠-̶̛͢͝-̶͜͞-̡̧́-̴-̨-̧͜͏̵-̵̵̡͘-̴̧-̀͠͝

Ross treads the damp stonework with a hint of reminisce in his gait, eyes drifting along the old walls of the underground tunnel, finding the markings he'd etched onto them as a young man with his fiancé, finding a place to settle down and earn a living. Words and numbers, of milestones and their dates, litter the tube-like path, thrumming like a heartbeat with his echoing footsteps.

He emerges then from the path into a wide open room made of similar, hardy stone. Faded colors scar along old pillars as they dot the area into the next hall just barely in the distance. Here too does he find markings etched into the stonework, stopping meditatively at one in particular. The year is gone, lost to time and the elements that dampen the cold floor, but the rest is still there if he squints at the barely intelligible pen-knife carving. _February 15,_ it reads, the date of his wedding.

It is lit by glass in the ceiling that feeds rays of sunlight that flood much of the area, heaven reaching into its ancient bones with its golden glow.

Bisecting the wide area is a river that runs through the entire subterranean structure, a path for boats that once ferried goods in and out of the once grand equine city, now town for the farm folk.

His bandaged hand runs through the glistening, slate black fur on his head, eyes skyward at distant memories he feels are slipping from his addled mind, his senses becoming unhinged as his remaining facets – if he can even trust them anymore – jolt to life at the sound of some distant coughing that echoes through the old walls.

He passes a single pillar before he sees her, Judy Hopps tied to a plastic mono-block chair. With all her strength she could probably break it, he thinks, but the moment isn't right and she won't attempt an escape so early. She's looking straight too, her back towards him. She may have looked around to try and find a feasible route out of here but quickly righted herself the minute she heard him coming back. She's clever, but he knows the tells of a calm and collected captive – though much less than an aggressive one but enough to know how she'd handle herself like a professional.

He comes into view just to give her an excuse to speak but she spares no words passed a weary gaze that he is surprised to find has no anger in it. Curiosity dots those lavender irises, perhaps a hint of worry in them alongside everything else in that clever little head of hers.

He pulls out a can of tomato soup from his cargo pants and slowly, almost methodically, cuts into it with his clawed thumb. He pays it more attention than he does her, and he only spares a glance at her when he's finished, lifting the metal cover off like a lid. He produces a plastic spoon from the same pocket, scooping up a clump of the squeezed juices mixed in with some garlic and still visible basil milling about somewhere beneath the utensil.

He leans over to Judy, the spoon raised to her lips. "Eat," he says flatly.

She doesn't protest as her tiny mouth takes it in. She knows she needs her strength and something to eat would help, but it doesn't stop her from feeling just a little bit awkward about being fed like a kit. And yet – given the situation – she realizes that there are far more important things to focus on.

He walks over to the river with the half-eaten can, swallowing the last bits of the meal in a single swig. With a wipe of his stained cheek, he kneels into the water and washes out the remaining contents. When he dips it in again, he takes a gulp of water, an act that makes Judy pop her dry lips.

He returns to her with a full can again, and a gentle hand lifts her chin as she drinks the water he pours down her throat. It's practiced, she can tell, clearly having experience with children. Perhaps behind his dull, flat eyes, he might have truly been a man ready to be a husband and father, but the life is clearly drained from him, rendering his movements robotic.

He carries on, footfalls slapping into the puddles at his feet, a hint of fondness in a particularly big splash, a joy that is quickly dispelled the minute the room is filled yet again with silence beneath the mild river rapids. He sits at the river's edge, cross legged as he watches his reflection distort in the clear waves.

"Ross?" she asks, getting him to tilt his head in her direction, "What is all this about?" She already knows the answer, it would be remiss of her if she didn't, but she's curious if he'd lie, she's curious if he's thought this through.

"Catching a killer," he responds plainly, his voice no higher an octave than it's always been. She can almost hear the old Ross, the one before this mess before her.

"When he finds you he won't be alone." She wants to reason with him, to see, nay _hope_ , that there is enough sanity in him left to listen. "This is pointless," she says cautiously, trying to warn him, "and you know it."

He chuckles to himself, rising from his position. She sees the way his tired bones stop relaxing as his body defaults to an imposing formation, the lines over his body turn hard as his weary arms seem to bulge like a threat as he stretches his aching muscles. "You see, Miss Hopps, that's where you're wrong." His eyes seem to flash as he turns to regard her, approaching her slowly, some amusement in his tone as well as the minute curl of his lips.

"You may know him better than anyone, but I have lived in that pit he's in." His eyes appear pained, smiling at the torment he had – _is_ – still living in. "That crushing loneliness, where the one you love the most is stolen away from you. And I assure you, that if there was even the _slightest_ chance that my wife might still be alive, I'd have torn through this town, barreling through everything and everyone in my way just to get to her, regardless of consequence, never stopping until I find her."

He breaks eye contact, watching the river speed through the room, his mind elsewhere from the waters. "Everyone else is too slow for him, too… cautious," he continues slowly, as if speaking to the room and not just her. "He's living every moment wondering if he's already too late. So he'll come running, faster and further than anyone else. Cause he thinks that if he's just a little bit faster, just a little bit further ahead than everyone else, he might just save you from something… _irreversible._ " He says the last without malice, almost with pity even, but his tone is even, almost as still as the room.

"Is that a threat?" There is no fear in her voice, nor is there any sass conjured to challenge him, only the steady want to clarify. It's a methodical question, an inquiry about her situation rather than a prompt for her own safety. He feels that she perhaps considers herself relatively safe, his intention not really aimed at harming her.

He approaches her again, crossing his arms as he speaks seriously, speaking moreover to instruct rather than address her question. "Keeping you alive is a courtesy to your innocence. But in the bigger picture, do understand that catching him is far more important."

"So my life isn't even a priority?"

He shrugs just the tiniest bit, treating a hostage situation as mundanely as getting morning coffee. "He'll come here regardless. Your survival depends entirely on your willingness to cooperate."

The sudden shift in her expression is enough to tell him that she has understood. He doesn't quite know what that almost determined face says, but if it's meant to challenge adversity, then it is futile and pointless. Things will go according to plan, he believes, and all her bravado here will mean nothing when her partner is jailed, and perhaps executed, for his crimes.

He's already half way back to the river when she speaks again.

"And you're not even going to try and convince me he's Carrion?"

He looks her up and down from over his shoulder, as if to gauge her. He's rather confused about her asking such a question. "You're in love with him," he answers as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "There's nothing I can say or do that will convince you otherwise."

She doesn't feel the need to correct him, no sense in arguing with a madman. Instead she chooses to say no more as she watches him cautiously, noticing the way his breathing seems to mimic her own: uneven and unnaturally gaited, both quite uncomfortable with the atmosphere.

Ross resumes his placement as he forces his eyes onto the water, catching sight of drifting leaves and the occasional branch. He busies himself by watching them continue into the endless succession of rooms just like the one they're in, but more often than not, the water has nothing drifting through it, and so his eyes catch glimpses of a figure's reflection on the opposite shore, staring at him from across the bank.

Judy notes the way his head tilts up slightly, eying something on the other end of the room that she can't see.

Ross stares into the haunted eyes of his old self, the man crossing his arms as his stern expression is mixed with disappointment buried beneath his vivid agony, thrashing and wailing in his own chaotic mind as he clutches himself. His veins pulsate and his gaze is pointed, demanding an answer for the torment he has left behind, the hell he has awoken to, and what he has done with the man he once was, the man Eli loved.

* * *

When Nick steps out onto the pavement, he realizes that the entire street is barren. The only sounds in the wind is Javan's Rodanta station wagon racketing its own engine beneath the faded ivory hood, and the crows circulating overhead, cawing as they do under the pale morning sky, as if they are stalking dying prey. Nick is uneasy at the sight, watching an ebony feather flutter downward to stand between two cobblestones, the ominous thing twitching in the calm breeze as if coming to life, beckoning him to the house before him.

"I'll circle the Village here for my patrol," Javan calls from his vehicle. "She'll be inside on her sofa, I imagine, reading one of her books so she'll likely hear you when you knock. Just try not to startle her." He drives off, his rickety engine quieting in the distance, leaving him alone with the crows.

Perhaps it's because it's still rather early on a Saturday morning, but the way the street stands still without Javan in it makes it look like time has stopped here, the world frozen in her absence, slowing to a crawl as the dull colors fills the spaces in his mind.

The town feels so bleak now, so devoid of life and energy that it seems nothing like the way it was when he first came here, or even just yesterday.

 _I'm imagining things._ He shrugs it off, trudging along the cold cobblestones, breath still hitched and ragged, and him becoming more and more aware of it. He clutches his still thrumming chest to calm himself but his headache won't subside, perhaps possessed by some madness of his own that demands he move quicker than he is, that he act with all abandon and bust through the door. But he is a civil man with enough of his faculties to reasonably differentiate himself with the madman who took his best friend.

Tali's suburban home is atypical save for the dark red roof, the shade of runways and theater curtains. The rest is aglow with flush white, newly painted it seems and it makes it look brand new. The windows are clean, the grass cut, cobblestones polished and the porch swept. She is a meticulous woman, he can tell, organized and clean like she's always afraid someone will criticize the state of her home and she'd die of embarrassment.

He doesn't mean to make any noise when he steps onto the front door, but apparently the inside of the house is silent enough for her to hear him before he even has a chance to knock. She stammers inside, her hurried footsteps coming then… stopping?

Then he hears the scrape of weighted wood against her floor, likely moving a shelf out of the way. Then the door clicks open, the shining brass of it glistening as it twists.

Her head pokes out, swerving about as she looks from side-to-side.

"Expecting someone taller?" he asks, startling her as she finally looks down. He means it as a joke but it comes out awkward, and his eyes turn despondent for a brief moment when he realizes that she's been expecting Ross.

"Oh, my, I'm so sorry," she apologizes quickly. "Please come in, Officer Wilde." Her polite invitation is more than a little jarring, so thoroughly off his expectations that he doesn't quite know where to put himself when he's inside. Javan had told him that she's likely incredibly sodden, and that she might even be a little unresponsive but the woman before him seems in control of all her faculties.

Kangaroos tend to skip when they're in a hurry, a prominent quality of their rather robust legs, and though he's seen quite a few of them perform well to the stereotype, none of them do so like Tali. She skips over her furniture that clutter her living room like a maze, landing with the strict control of a ballerina, a token to her womanly opulence.

In fact, now that he can see her outside of her uniform, he is surprised to find just how petite she is. Though her wide hips are a staple of her species, the rest of her is actually quite slender. The tribal tattoo on her face alongside her teal tank top and short shorts actually make her look younger than she actually is. Nick wonders if the look is intentional in that regard, perhaps part of the way she's coping with the rejection.

Then she's out of the room, leaving him behind the blockade. The place is an organized mess of sorts as the furniture and the shelves – with their book and assorted curios – are all dust free and already very much put together.

"Sorry for the mess!" she calls from the kitchen beyond the living room. "I tend to rearrange my rooms to occupy myself."

He hops over a sofa to get to the kitchen, the shelves displaced around him tower over his much smaller form, ready to topple. "That explains the fresh paint and trimmed grass."

"So to speak," she says as she turns from her kitchen counter with a pair of mugs, smiling at him when she finds him already at the doorway. "I did them earlier this week. I figured I'd take the day off and do some mid-autumn cleaning. I know most people don't talk about us but… me and Eli were best friends. I didn't think having to be at the station would do me any good."

She seems incredibly open to him, a stranger, and he isn't quite sure why. But perhaps she has a lack of alternatives. Javan, for all his tenor and grit, seems like a very passive man when it comes to her. And Creed? Well he doesn't seem all that concerned. In fact, back at the station he just said that she'll get over it by tomorrow, to which Javan woefully disagreed, suggesting that that would be too soon.

"That why I didn't see you at the party earlier this week?" he asks under a meditative sip of his coffee. He wants to accelerate the conversation but the woman might secretly be hysterical, doing her best to hide her frustrations in meticulous redecorating.

"Yeah, I needed some alone time. I'll be honest though, I'm glad I didn't go. I wouldn't have wanted to be there. I heard most of the attendees didn't get much sleep then."

Nick remembers the crying and the screaming, the panic and the inconspicuous weight of his gun. He remembers running down the alley too, chasing a shadow in the distance, a car parked down the path that almost certainly held the town's resident sweetheart now taken from them all too soon. He also remembers the pain that once jolted through the back of his skull. It was a trying time, where every moment since has only gotten worse and worse.

The green of her eyes is telling of some derelict pain, a torment locked away in a set of fear not entirely dissimilar to his own. But when their eyes meet, she is surprised to find the intensity in his sorrow, and she laughs at herself for being so emotional.

He turns away, his fingers rapping against his mug, each digit tapping against the porcelain over the emanating heat. "You're surprisingly open in the company of a stranger," he says distractedly.

"You're famous for your discretion so I see no harm in telling you." _She jumped to that pretty quickly…_ "Plus, I figured all my other candidates aren't very reliable at this point," she's embarrassed to admit, slumping her shoulders as she attempts to hide herself in them for a moment.

"Oh?"

She sighs, the first honest expression of sadness he's seen yet and she carries it with grace, never slumping. "Javan worries too much. He thinks I'm frail, easily broken. Creed on the other hand thinks I'm essentially unshakable but that's mostly cause he compares me to that woman, Sam, and he can see all _her_ flaws since he's basically adopted her. I'm not sure Creed sees mine, if I'm being honest. And Calvary's been much too busy lately."

"You're close to Calvary?"

"Oh, yeah. Me, him and Eli go way back. We had our own little circle back in high school." She bites her lip at the memory. "Javan was an upperclassman so I didn't really get to know him till we were on the force together. But even then he still had a different partner."

Nick notes the distinct absence of a particular name, one he takes advantage of. "I take it Ross isn't a local then?"

"Oh he's from Orca, like Eli, but she was here in Bronc Town for two years before going back there. Didn't think she'd ever come back here after that, and especially not married."

She's surprisingly calm at the mention of either of them. So he takes it as a sign to go ahead. "I'll be honest, Miss Laoenne, I'm not actually here for a social call."

"Oh, I know." Of that he had no doubt. The woman is intelligent, maybe overly meticulous. It serves as no surprise that she's perceptive as well. "But you'll forgive a girl for indulging in some pleasant company while she still can… I very much doubt the rest of this day will get anywhere near this comfortable."

"So you're familiar with what's going on?"

She hasn't been ignorant to the steady, pulsating rise and fall of his chest, nor the way his eyes are shaded just a tiniest bit with a hard red. She chalks it up to some pent up frustration or anger for Ross, the kind she isn't quite sure she's sharing.

"My neighbors, the Avery's, they have an old military radio that's locked on police frequencies," she says, trying not to meet his eyes. "They don't like living in the dark about anything here. Anyway, I only know that Ross has run off." She shrugs. "And that you're in a hurry to catch him for some reason."

He blinks at her, the woman clearly having no idea why he's so harried. The look he gives her builds a mounting sense of fear, a sign that she's missed something important. "He's kidnapped my partner, Judy. And I don't know where he's keeping her, but I need to find her. And fast."

She meets the pleading in his eyes, a part of her demanding that she stay in her seat but in the next moment she's out of it. "Let's go. We can start with his place. He won't be there but there will likely be something we can find."

She's already at the doorway when she realizes that he hasn't followed her.

He sits there at the counter, body refusing to move as he shakes his head. He then downs his coffee in a single gulp before slowly pulling himself up from the stool. "Sorry," he says, "didn't think I'd be this tired."

"How long have you been up?"

"Just before dawn. I had a rough morning, you could imagine."

She inspects him as he tries to push himself to hurry. She pities him and shakes her head. "Look, we'll take your car but I'm driving. Ross's place is on the other end of town so it'll take a while. Just use that time to relax, alright?"

He nods wearily, feeling no need to protest as he tosses her his keys. He picks up the pace when she bolts out of the kitchen. He hears her open some cupboards and move the sofa out of the way. She's already out the door when he makes it to the porch. Then he jogs after her as she enters his car.

She tells him to take the backseat and when he gets in he finds a makeshift cot made of some full cloth, the end folded in to make a pillow of sorts.

He thanks her when he decides to lay on it, feeling his body relax as the car pulls out and away from Stable Village. He feels no shame in accepting the kind offer, even if he's being taken care of by a woman he barely knows.

Bit by bit, his senses return to him, strength filling his aching limbs. He realizes that he hasn't even had breakfast and it's almost noon, and he's likely going to miss lunch too if he keeps this pace. He needs to take care of himself if he's going to give his all to save Judy. He can't just forget about taking care of himself.

His eyes drift to Tali in the driver's seat, a determined look to her that glances at the rearview mirror just to check for him. She's a caring woman that's for certain, almost motherly. Speaking of which… "I heard you wanted to become a mother," he says, catching her off-guard.

Her gaze returns to the road, blushing as she does so. "I'm a busy woman too caught up in her own head to properly take care of another living thing. I need a partner first before I even try… but Sigurd was already pretty much grown up. I guess I thought he'd be the closest thing to having a son without actually having one of my own."

He figures that she just wants to talk about her pain, not explore them. Ross rejected her and Sigurd's already part of the body count, and yet it's the reminisce she's caught up in. It isn't that she's in denial, but perhaps the way people treat her at the station, as if she's stoic or, in Javan's case, fragile, she never really gets to talk about her problems the way she sees them.

"You don't sound very confident on your chances of finding someone for yourself." He tries to sound neutral about it, like a therapist might, with just the tiniest hint of sympathy to appear impartial yet compassionate.

"I've been strung up on a married man," she laughs, "and the only other man I fell in love with is apparently gay. And I swear, even if I somehow convince myself that Javan is a proper option, he'll never stop looking at me like his junior on the force, like a girl and never a woman."

 _Another woman who can't find love,_ he thinks with a worrisome bite to his lip. And on top of that, she's lost a pseudo son and her best friend. This woman can't catch a break but she's not as far gone as most would be in her position, a token to her resilience. But he can't help but feel pity for her. "Wow," he mutters sadly, "women have terrible luck here."

"To be fair, a lot of the men are widowers now. Most of us are lucky that all we have is a broken heart."

He sits up, watching her carefully. He can tell that she's suffered through similar pains in both accounts but she doesn't say it aloud. He says no more, settling into his seat as he watches the town whoosh by through tinted glass. She is perhaps thankful for the silence herself as he finds her gaze out onto the town as well, waving at some passersby through her open window.

It is minutes later that he finds the strength to get off the backseat. He slips onto the passenger seat, smiling at her. "How much further?"

"We're almost there. It's just down that road that skims the woods." She points into the distance, watching the path disappear into the treeline. "It's an expansion of Stable Village itself so it goes by the same name. It didn't get much bigger when it turned out that most of the local graduates weren't looking for new places to live. Some of the homes are unfinished too, a couple basements that are largely untouched."

"You thinking he might have her there?" It's a little close to his own home so it might not be the best choice, but he's gone nuts and it's difficult to question the logic of someone who doesn't like making all that much sense whenever he chooses to.

"It's not very inconspicuous, but there are few options like it."

"I'll phone them up," Nick says as he dials Clawhauser's number and puts him on loudspeaker after a single ring. "Ben? Hey, where are you right now?"

"In the APC, hooked up to the radio," the leopard says between his chews on his donut. He then audibly swallows. "We're parked in the station's yard so we can work closely with them."

"Find anything?"

"He stopped by a convenience store at the foot of town this morning. Bought a pack of plastic spoons, an energy bar, and some gauze." They hear him chuckle. "He had a bandage at the back of his head. Looks like Judy put up a fight." His jolly demeanor hides all of his fear from Tali, but Nick knows him better and he catches the slightly more serious tone of his voice that tells Nick he's very much worried.

Ross probably didn't think his stop would be risky at all. And his purchases are almost ignorable. Maybe he did it to leave a message? "You send anyone over there for the surveillance?"

"Sam and Deputy Kaenid. Apparently he was watching the cams and didn't even park anywhere near them. According to them, it looked like he made sure he wasn't giving away what vehicle he had with him." He's careful, still enough of his sanity is operational to maintain his cunning. Nick didn't think it would be easy, but a little leeway might have been nice.

"Moot point, honestly," Tali says, "cause unless he got himself a _fourth_ car, whatever vehicle's missing from his property is the car he's using." But he delayed the inevitable, Nick considers, and perhaps long enough to purge any recent memory from onlookers of his car in the time it will take to find out which one.

"Anyway, Clawhauser," Nick continues, "we're heading for an extension of Stable Village at the northeast end of town inside the forest, just off the Banana District. There's some unfinished housing here and we'll need eyes to look them over, their basements specifically."

"You got it, Boss," Clawhauser remarks playfully, laughing further at the clear groan he hears from Bogo behind him.

"Boss?" Nick asks, wondering at the unfamiliar term on him. "This an inside joke or something?"

Ben doesn't even get to laugh when Bogo picks up the phone. "You're head of this case, Wilde, and now this rescue operation. So you better find my star officer." He tries to sound serious but it's clear they're only teasing.

He also doesn't miss the way Bogo doesn't mention that Nick is anywhere near a star officer himself, but again, teasing.

"You're all heart, chief," Nick drolls sarcastically, as he ends the call. At least the ZPD are doing what they can to lift spirits. They'll find Judy for sure, but it'll be an arduous task.

Hidden beneath the canopy is a row of houses on one side of the road. Towards the end of it is an extravagant home akin to a Spanish villa, and Nick is all but shocked when they stop at it. "He lives _here_?"

"Ross is a well-earning cop from Orca and Eli was a sales consultant."

He steps out of the car onto the tiled pathway, eying up the white stucco walls crowned by terracotta roofs, the bold arch of the doorway and the wide side garage. It's not a home he'd get himself, Spanish architecture is incredibly pretty but not modern.

As they make their way towards the front door, Tali stops to observe the drive way. "There's nothing outside, and the garage only has room for two." So whatever's inside isn't the one.

Tali opens the door with a spare key, and they enter the room where she had just yesterday found Ross resting on the wall, a cut deep into his cheek from his encounter with An. It was excessive, yes, but they'd all been real antsy this week, and it was only a matter of time before people started hurting each other. Still, she finds little comfort from the once tender memory when his hand had gently graced her cheek, only to realize that the woman he was staring at was not her, but a derelict illusion of Eli plastered over her own form.

She pains at the memory, approaches the spot and almost wills herself to sit there again, perchance to conjure the moment once more in what she can only hope is willful bliss. But she is neither so ignorant nor so senseless.

"Ash?" Nick says, passing her by towards the adjacent ajar door.

She never really paid too much attention to it before but it's intriguing to say the least. She follows closely behind Nick as he slowly opens the door, the ash built up against the door from all the wind giving way at their feet.

Nick squints at the vast amount of it, eying charred wood where once mighty embers billowed from their cracks in golden swathes.

Tali gasps at the destruction before her, barely able to recognize the once captivating alcove beneath all the remains. "This was their garden…" she whispers as her eyes drag through the dull gray expanse.

Nick picks up a cracked picture frame, its contents having long been burnt save for the golden border he recognizes all too well; a police officer's diploma. "You sure this was their garden, or just his?"

She doesn't know what he's getting at but answers anyway. "He…" she barely utters, still lost in disbelief. "He made it for her, to… christen the home, so to speak. I guess he really just viewed it as a pet project. He wanted to try making one so when they eventually moved, he would know how to make a better one."

"That explains it."

"Explains what?"

He hands her the frame, confusing her for a moment before her eyes go wide at the golden border she too recognizes. "This is his," she mutters.

"As was all this," Nick gestures to the garden. "And I'm sure there's more of his things in here, all burnt, forgotten. Or at least he tried to." He picks up the melted rear of a metallic toy dump truck. It was probably a safety hazard, once upon a time, but it might have been a piece of his childhood. "He gave up everything that made him, _him._ All for her, so he could focus on taking revenge."

Tali shakes her head. "Idiot," she mumbles. Nick doesn't know if she's talking about Ross or maybe even herself, but it's clear to him that she's experiencing some deep regret.

"C'mon," he gestures for her to follow him out of the alcove, "let's look around and see what else we can find."

He presses passed her to encourage her to leave, and she does, but not before he manages to catch her glancing back at the garden, a painful ambivalence over her features.

They enter the kitchen beside the entrance hall and Nick immediately notices the slightly ajar cupboard. He clambers up the counter as he reaches for it, opening it to find some cans and a lot of empty space between them. He pulls out his phone to light up the cupboard's floor, revealing some clear circles in the dust at the back of it. "Looks like he pulled out some of his cans to take with him."

"That explains the spoons. Too bad his shopping list doesn't give us anything."

"But we know he was here to stock up." Nick plops onto the counter, crossing his arms.

"You think he came back here?" she asks, leaning against the island counter in front of him. "Wouldn't it make more sense that he got all this before kidnapping Judy?"

He shakes his head, considering the situation but never meeting her eyes. "I don't think he intended to turn this into a kidnapping at all. This entire fiasco _wasn't_ pre-meditated. The way he disregarded any subtlety at the hotel when he clearly should have enough faculties to stay out of the camera at the convenience store tells me that he didn't anticipate Judy interfering. No, he was after me."

"Then why didn't he just take you?"

He looks up at her, expression grave. "Cause when he had Judy, he found a very different opportunity. To make me feel what he felt, to have the person I care about the most be ripped from me, perhaps forever."

"Oh my god…"

"It won't come to that." He hops off the counter, pressing on as they continue their search.

Tali manages to check the garage where both of Ross and Eli's cars are parked. She had heard that Ross found the keys to it on the hood the morning of Eli's kidnapping. She shudders to consider what kind of poetic justice Ross thinks he's serving up.

"Ben, have everyone on the lookout for a white Cheri Zimpala," Nick says over the phone. "Looks like Ross took his brother-in-law's car."

They exit Ross's home just as the deputies and Officer Francine arrive on the scene to investigate the half-finished homes. The pair looks over all the ground that needs covering and Tali thinks that it's going to be a long day.

But Nick watches the search party and shakes his head wearily. Time is running short and every minute they waste looking in what he believes is the wrong direction, only increases the chance of him losing her.

He will have no part in this. He needs to keep moving, needs to keep making progress towards finding her, and he quickly realizes that he knows exactly how to do just that.

"Where are you going?" Tali asks as Nick hops into his Austin.

"Going into town to cash in a favor."

She doesn't press on as she joins him on the passenger side, not willing to leave him alone just yet.

Nick won't admit that he's comforted by the company, but such things need not be spoken. Cause it's clear to him that she needs that reassurance just as much he does.

So he takes off into town once more, looking for a very different rabbit. A very Italian one.

                                          -̸͏͏-̸̛̀͜-̧͟-̴̢͏-͢-̵̨̢͠͝-̵͘͞͞͡-̶̀̕͢-̧̛́͞͠-̶͜-̴̵͘͠-͝-̵̵̡-̵̧̕͝-̕͏̢-̷̕͝͞-̢̡̢-͜͜͠͝͞-̸̨͟-̧͢͝-̡͡͏͜-̶͜-̧̛-̷-̛̛-̷͝͠҉-͡͡-̵̨-̷̵͡͞-̴͘͝-̛́-̷̵̀-̧-̷̀͟-̵̢-̛̀-̵̛͏̕͝-̕͜͡-͏̸́͘-̨͘͠-̀͞-̵̢̨̧͠-̡̀͟-̶--̧̀-͘͠-̶̛͢͝-̶͜͞-̡̧́-̴-̨-̧͜͏̵-̵̵̡͘-̴̧-̀͠͝

All Judy can hear is the rushing waters of the bisecting river, thrumming through the tunnels endlessly. She does not know where the waters go or if they lead anywhere safe, but she doesn't want to take her chances. She's more likely to survive above the water than beneath it for as long as Ross doesn't openly attempt to kill her, or at least cripple her enough to keep her in place.

But she'll not give him that chance.

She is alone here at last, having slept her way through Ross's company who is suspiciously absent, but she's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth and trouble herself with his whereabouts just yet.

She pulls at the rope around her wrists and snaps the base of the plastic chair's backrest. She then slips the bindings off of them before she rolls them from underneath her, seeing the thick layered bindings before her. The knot is thick and expertly tied, she'd have an easier time just cutting them instead of undoing them, so she instead decides to just keep them on. She doesn't need full mobility to get out of here anyway.

Judy sneaks over to one of the pillars in the distance where she's seen Ross take his things.

Her footfalls are little more than pitter patter against the damp stonework, but she is afraid of alarming him nonetheless. She finally reaches the pillar, her hands grasping at the rough, red stone, and she hears nothing from behind it. Her skin crawls at the idea that he is quietly waiting behind it, stilling even his breath, ready to snatch her again.

Her heart races, beating out of her chest as she stifles her breathing. She nearly yelps when she hears something clang in a distant room. She swallows all sensations, quieting her mind.

She peeks over and spots various cans and some sets of clothes resting against it on the other end, thankfully all devoid of Ross, but it leaves to question where he even is. There are specks of blood about the cobblestone as well, clearly having been from Ross tending to his cheek and his knuckles. Among the assorted materials is also his phone atop a can of beans.

Quickly, she takes it, and nearly curses when she finds that it has no signal.

She shakes her head, perhaps she might find more luck with one of the storm drains here.

She almost sneaks about again but she then abandons the idea entirely. She could attempt an escape but he'll be more likely to find her if she wastes too much time. Plus he's both stronger and faster than her so fighting him off would be ill-advised. Not to mention the probable magnitude of the place – wherever she even is – might be too large for her to navigate safely. And if Ross is anywhere near as familiar with the place as he seems, he might even know it like the back of his hand. He has all the advantages, so she'll have to gun for her continued luck.

She instead decides to sprint into the tunnel Ross usually emerges from; perhaps a path to the exit. Wishful thinking, that, but it's as good a choice as any.

She immediately notices the larger puddles here, splashing against her feet as panic jolts through her spine about making so much noise. But she can't help it, it's pretty dark here and she doesn't have night vision even nearly as good as Nick or Ross's. So she clutches the phone with a mighty desperation, unwilling to loosen her grip for fear of dropping it.

And it doesn't help that what light the phone itself offers is barely enough to see her hand in front of her face. She tries to adjust the settings on it but the UI is unfamiliar and she decides not to waste time on it. It's not a model she recognizes but it irks her that despite its intuitive design, finding the damn light isn't so easy.

Distracted, her foot is then almost caught beneath a deceptively deep puddle, causing her to stumble and curse. She tucks the phone to her chest as she rights herself, feeling it rise and fall against the gadget as she shifts her gaze across the tunnel. She is anxious about how alone she is, but she spares no more time thinking on it.

As her footsteps echo dimly through the tunnel, she is wary of the thick darkness, barely pierced by the lights ebbing off the tunnel's mouth behind her or by the well-lit room off the side. She sees the light veritably pour into the darkness before it, almost like a floodlight, and it offers her hope. Because it's angular and bright, perhaps from a storm drain. And where the sun feeds its rays as greatly, there's perhaps enough open space above to get a signal.

She slows as she approaches it, warily touching the light as if it might burn her, because the room could harbor him, eyes locking onto the tunnel, patiently waiting for her to attempt an escape.

Her gaze then shifts to the end of the tunnel passed the lit room, where an iron door dimly glows around its cracks and the barred window on it. An exit if she can manage to open it but one to consider for later. If the lights are as dim there as they are in the large room she was just in, then it likely doesn't have signal either.

Judy then lends her ear to the side room and hears nothing still, granting her some confidence. Then she creeps into the light, scanning the area for any signs of life. She finds nothing but moss against the walls and vines hanging from the grating above. The room is circular and has clear wear and tear against its stonework, smoothing what etchings there may have been on them until they are no longer recognizable.

There is no sign of him here, and she allows her heart to settle.

That is until she looks down the entrance of the room to see the lit path shrouded in darkness. The room is a dead end and if he manages to find her here, she will have no place to run. She glances back at the phone and sees one, then two bars. She resists intoning her relief, looking back into the darkness across with a determined gaze.

She then rapidly types down what details she can about the area as she stands in the dead center of the room. She notes the old stonework which is clearly not of any modern make. She then notes the tall trees she can manage to see passed the grating above her. The sound of crows is strangely comforting alongside everything else, but then she actually sees the crows overhead, circulating as if they are monitoring prey.

Judy shakes her head, ignoring it as she continues typing.

Then she hears a splash from the tunnel, causing her to audibly yelp beyond her own control. She clamps a hand over her mouth, and it stays there when she looks up at what's standing in the light: Ross.

He looks straight at her, showing no signs of any emotion. His expression is eerily neutral, his muscles relaxed, unlike her own. There is no fear or fury in his eyes, but perhaps… curiosity?

She decides not to let him stop her, so she finishes typing the message as best as she can, hearing him approach her heart beats loudly in her chest, in sync with his footsteps that sound louder in her head than they actually are. She backs away into the wall, feet almost slipping against the curved wall's slight slope, kicking off some loose stone her shoulders tense and her body freezes.

And just at the last minute, as she is about to hit send, he snatches it from her.

It feels like it happens in minutes but then she realizes that it's been seconds across. Time seems to slow to a crawl even now as Ross tilts his head at the message, his form over her as his black fur turns into a living shadow, trapping her against the wall.

He tilts his head at the message, scrolling down to see it all. But then he looks at her, expression still blank without a hint of intensity behind it. Their eyes lock for what feels like minutes before he suddenly, and quite abruptly, hands back the phone.

She realizes then that her bound hands are still extended, having previously and feebly reached out for the phone.

She doesn't know what do with the phone then, staring hard at the untouched message and the bright green _SEND_ button.

For a moment she considers why, but all too quickly does she uncover the answer: Ross _wants_ Nick to find them, it's the reason why they're even there, and Ross is giving her the choice to push things forward or keep things stagnant.

Her eyes remain wide as she looks up at him. His careful gaze seems to urge her to press the button.

She could just be leading Nick into a trap, but the idea that Nick might never otherwise find them fills her with an uneasy sense of doubt. She doesn't want to give in to Ross's desires, but not doing so only to spite him might actually drag this on longer than it should, and it isn't like she's unaware of the fact that Carrion is still at large.

And then a stray, derelict thought bubbles into her panicking frame. _Ross could be… no, he couldn't be…_

His talent for staying absolutely silent, honed and perfected over the years, his sheer strength and speed, and his clever mind that, if he ever managed to stay sane, might have been something admirable or even imposing. And yet it somehow clicks together in her mile-a-minute thought process: _that Ross might very well be Carrion._

A fear so great overcomes her, trouncing her sensibilities as her hovering thumb presses _send_ in a moment of panic.

And then Ross takes back the phone, walking away with his still expression.

Judy takes it as a chance to relax, and with that comes the staying of her heart. And all too late does she realize her mistake. Ross is too tall to be Carrion and, were he really, truly the same serial killer, then he would have smiled at her before leaving, a mockery that is distinctly part of the killer's MO.

She's trapped down here with a madman but not a serial killer. And that somehow grants her a slight yet incredibly ill sense of comfort.

It's then that she sees that she's alone, the only sound around her being Ross's footsteps echoing down the hall.

She walks out and manages to spy him at the mouth of the tunnel. She doesn't know why he isn't seizing her but she's willing to take the opportunity for what it is.

Her eyes lock onto the opposite end of the tunnel where the iron door sits, light brimming off its static edges. She can still hear Ross walking on behind her, so she doesn't even look back when she runs for the door.

Her breathing is hitched when she doesn't hear Ross running after her yet, anticipating his snarl and pounce at any moment. Her footsteps echo loudly through the tunnel, clearly having already reached Ross, but she is thankful that he hasn't noticed.

A scant few feet from the door, she decides to turn around to see him, but she finds the puma leaning against the tunnel's end, looking at her.

She doesn't have time to figure out why, pressing herself against the wind as she nears the door.

Her bound wrists slam against the door as her fingers reach for lever on it. She twists it and then… it doesn't give. The door is locked.

She turns to the end of the hall and sees Ross shaking his head. She thinks he might have the key, the cheeky bastard. She tries to hatch a plan to snag it later, when his guard is down again, where she'll make a swift exit.

Her determination falters when he speaks, his voice echoing ominously through the tunnel, reverberating around her as if his voice is magnified. "It's locked," he announces, "and the key is on the other side, waiting for him to find it. Just as he'll find you… us."

She shakes her head in utter disbelief. Ross has apparently locked them **both** in here. And if no one finds them, they're here for as long as no one finds that door. But it won't come to that, she thinks, even as she falls to her knees in defeat.

Because Nick will find them… he has to. But as she eyes the end of the tunnel where Ross's silhouette cuts through the light menacingly, he appears like an omen of such grave things this town has wrought, another dark myth coming to life, _and she's inviting Nick into it._

* * *

Nick stopped the car minutes ago when he received Judy's message, halting against the lonely street as he stares at the written text whose number – Tali finds – is Ross's.

Tali at first thinks that his silence is garnered by the idea that it is every confirmation that it is _Ross_ who took Judy and not some errant perchance that it might have been Carrion all along. And the idea, grave and daunting, that perhaps Ross might have been _both_ still lingers across her lips, almost daring to say it aloud.

But then Nick chuckles almost hysterically, breathing easy for the first time since she's seen him today, vestiges of tears slipping quietly down the dark circles of his eyes that soften readily as he turns to her. "She's alive…" he gasps, clasping a hand to his mouth. "She's still alive," he adds, a squint to his eyes that are determined, thankful, "and fighting."

She blinks at the fox, surprised or perhaps _moved_ by his joy, but before she can formulate any response. She sees his heart quicken once more, haggard breathing continuing as he eyes the road and starts the car again.

He drives off without a word, and she sits there beside him, not quite sure how to feel. Her focus shifts back to the road ahead of them, and all she can think about now is offer what she knows.

"It's an old canal," she says. Nick tilts his head in her direction. "It's what Judy was describing. Back when this place used to be a great city for horses, they built a canal underground to transfer goods when their streets became too crowded, but it never finished. After the plague and the destruction of the city, this place turned into a forest with a little village at the center. Very few records from the old city survived, and certainly nothing about the canal, but it's clear that it still exists and is somehow still operational enough for Ross to hide out in."

"In a town this old, I doubt that place is much of a secret now," Nick responds, eyes drifting between her and the road.

"And yet it is," she offers immediately. "The place is a legend here in town, well known but shrouded in secrecy. Few people actually know where it is and… well, by the looks of it, only one of them is still alive."

"And that would be Ross?" He guesses, but doesn't really need to. Nick shakes his head. Certainly _someone_ else might know where it is? "Who else knew about it?"

"Ross and Eli talked about their little getaway so it's clear they both knew where it was. Then there's Henry Avery. The badger buried an old friend of his near it when he came back from the war. Said that the river somewhere there was a favorite spot for him. But he's dead now too so we've no luck there."

"What?" Nick is genuinely confused. Miss Avery had told them a very different story. "I thought Miss Avery's husband died in the war. She said so."

Tali bites her lip. "Oof… that's a lie. She tells it to the visitors so they can look at the tank at the foot of the town with fondness. The idea that old Henry died from the war heroically is a much kinder alternative." She doesn't meet Nick's gaze, eying the businesses that zoom by, heart nearly stopping when she spots the flower shop the Avery's own in the distance. "Henry Avery was one of Carrion's first victims."

Nick doesn't know how closely she might have known him, but it saddens her regardless. He searches for a joke to crack but he does not find one. Thankfully, she finds other ways to distract herself. Her phone rings as she makes a call to Terence.

"Hey, Tali, we were just about to call you two," the wolf says over the loudspeaker. "Looks like we got a hit on Ross's car. Turns out a city vehicle as fancy as a Valiant sticks out like a sore thumb. It was headed somewhere north of town. Maybe even out of town."

_Out of town? No… that can't be._

"We have more information," Nick says. "Judy just sent me a message. She's being held up in an underground canal somewhere in the forest." He looks to Tali, recounting her story. "Maybe by a river even."

"Ugh, the forest is thickest there," he moans exasperatedly. "And we've got miles of rivers to cover even there alone but… it narrows down our search. I'll have our guys and yours scour the area as soon as possible."

The call ends soon after, the silence in the car persisting for longer than is comfortable. Tali bites her lip as she mulls over things, not quite sure where to even begin at this point. They have a place to search with an army of people to search it, there's also the matter of Nick's estranged friend – whomever he might be – who's waiting for them at the Hector's Savory Bakery, but then there's Nick's behavior, which is all over the place at this point. But she decides on none of the above, her voice a little raspy when she says, "I know this is a silly thing to ask but… do you think I'm pretty, Officer Wilde?"

His answer is immediate, not even a breath's time between. "It would be remiss of me to say no, but I doubt confirmation on your own beauty is what you're really after."

She sighs, crumpling into her seat like a limp sack. "Then what _am_ I looking for?"

"Someone to love," he responds as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

She blinks at him, taking his insinuation of her own interests with the same nonchalance, giving her pause.

Nick glances at her dumbfounded expression, arms stiff at her sides as her mouth remains agape. He's sure he's on the money on that one, but that's besides the point. She is a clever woman who does not yet know her own value, but not because she thinks of herself less, only that she feels that the only person she seeks approval from hasn't looked in her direction, mad as he might be.

He sighs. "Let me take a wild guess here and assume that Eli has always gotten what she wanted. And for the most part, those were things you wanted too." Tali blinks again, a little more shocked now as she attempts to form words that die in her mouth, a little embarrassed of them.

"I'm not going to pretend I know how that feels. But I do know what it feels like to want something you feel like should be yours. It's dangerous to think that the world owes it to you, cause the universe makes no debts, and whatever happens to us just… happens."

"But that doesn't mean you have no control. Your life is what you make it, after all." He shrugs with his lopsided grin, dropping it almost immediately as he rolls his shoulders in his seat, sporting a sad smile. "But there's a fine line between wanting something and knowing what shouldn't be yours."

"What if there's nothing else I want?" Tali asks. She doesn't want to sound childish, refuting the world's rules so she can have what she wants, but it would be remiss of her to not be honest with herself at this point.

He chuckles at her statement. "Since when have we ever stopped wanting something? Trust me, there will be no shortage of things you'll want. And when you finally start paying attention to yourself, you'll forget all about the one little thing you couldn't have. And maybe," he pauses, laughing to himself again, hand falling to the badge in his wallet, "just maybe… you'll find something that'll take its place. Maybe something even better."

Tali is no stranger to his story – being famous tends to do that – and maybe he knows that she knows, but regardless, she makes the connection easily enough and considers that perhaps he's right. But the pit in her gut won't leave her so soon, but one day, maybe.

It's then that they finally arrive near the entrance of Stable Village, where a bakery – with its great plume of smoke billowing off its tall chimney – has cut into the wall as a welcome to all visitors, pressing into its back to serve as a hybridized home and shop.

The glass door creaks against old metal as they enter, the bell overhead announcing them to the room.

They wave at the ever busy pigs, the Hector father and son, but Nick doesn't miss the way Marcus nods at him with a sad smile, nor the way Marshal glances over at the tables set up by the window and nudges his head in that direction.

Nick reads his gesture and looks to the metallic tables to find the man he's looking for: Andrei Callahan, sipping coffee and eating a small plate of Spanish bread.

"Mr. Wilde, Miss Laoenne," the red-eye-white rabbit greets, "please, do join me."

Tali takes her seat with caution, a weakness in Andrei's eyes, but Nick sustains an aura of confidence, the kind you get from years in the presence of the mafias. But it is of little consequence.

"So I'm assuming you're here to cash in your favor? And yes, we're well aware who's involved," Andrei's tone is grave, sad even. In most scenarios, Andrei would have kept a self-assured attitude about him, but now is neither the time nor the place for anything like that. "We're not in the dark about what's happened. I'm afraid to say that much of the town is well-informed about it now."

His voice remains foreboding, any air of pleasantry lost. "The town is about to unravel, and it could really use some good news right now," Andrei adds.

"Then help me find some," Nick puts down his phone on the table, opened on the message Judy sent him. "These are the details she managed to send me, about some old canal she's being held in. It's in the forest somewhere north of town, along some river." He had intended to simply ask them to search for her too, but they'll serve a better purpose this way.

Andrei wastes no time giving his men a call, and a few minutes later, he's done. "We'll contact you with directions to it the minute we find the place."

"You're not gonna go in yourselves?" Tali asks, her green eyes flashing with some curiosity rather than any frustration.

"We're not really meant to be involved in the first place," Andrei says rather matter-of-factly. "But more than that, I'd rather not lose any more men than I already have."

Nick and Tali glance at each other. "You've lost men?" Nick asks for them both.

Andrei chuckles sadly, never meeting their eyes, lost in the dark swirls of his black coffee. "It's gotten… personal." His red eyes seem to burn down into the mug, hardening as his features twist as he grits his teeth before he looks up at them. "I came here with a good forty men. And now I barely have eighteen." He gasps, almost wheezes, his chest rising and falling with what looks to be an abject rage, a fury, white hot and pure, surging through his core. "Look further south, passed the forest – just follow the crows – and you'll find my men there, on a slope between the incline of three steep hills, turned into a mass grave."

The presence of Carrion returns to them, though they realize that the dread of him has never really left. They'd been so focused on so many other things that they had almost forgotten about the looming shadow over town, and the idea that he's changing up his style again

"We thought we could solve it ourselves then. Cause we were being picked off when we were being careless but we thought we could just catch him in the act, now that we're alert. But even when we stationed men up there with hard eyes looking into that damn pit… he still managed to get more bodies in."

He regards them with the strictest look, trying to mask the sorrow and, perhaps, the fear behind them. "This monster of yours. This… _Carrion Killer_? Something's happened to him. He's more than just changed, he's… _evolved._ "Because the demon in town does not leave a body behind, but the ones he has conjured now are almost like an augury sign of his talent, or a test bed for a new approach to his killings.

And again it strikes fear into them, a bitter reminder that what they're doing to save Judy is only a temporary affair to the real hell still lurking amongst them, a bitter chill running through them as the air seems to turn ice cold.

Then Marcus walks up to the table, placing a chiffon cake between them. "This one's on the house." He smiles at them, regarding Nick at the last. "I know what happened and we're here for ya' if ya' need us." He walks off then, none the wiser of their conversation. He wouldn't want to know.

And that obliviousness reminds them that all the town is doing their best to forget what's still happening around them, a chance at ignorance so they might sleep at night. But every night there's a chance one of them might never wake up again, and that instills a fear that is long reaching, all encompassing.

Nick wonders if he'll even stay in town once he finds Judy again – as if she'd ever give him the choice. And then he wonders if he'll ever stop feeling so haunted, if this case will stay with him forever.

                                          -̸͏͏-̸̛̀͜-̧͟-̴̢͏-͢-̵̨̢͠͝-̵͘͞͞͡-̶̀̕͢-̧̛́͞͠-̶͜-̴̵͘͠-͝-̵̵̡-̵̧̕͝-̕͏̢-̷̕͝͞-̢̡̢-͜͜͠͝͞-̸̨͟-̧͢͝-̡͡͏͜-̶͜-̧̛-̷-̛̛-̷͝͠҉-͡͡-̵̨-̷̵͡͞-̴͘͝-̛́-̷̵̀-̧-̷̀͟-̵̢-̛̀-̵̛͏̕͝-̕͜͡-͏̸́͘-̨͘͠-̀͞-̵̢̨̧͠-̡̀͟-̶--̧̀-͘͠-̶̛͢͝-̶͜͞-̡̧́-̴-̨-̧͜͏̵-̵̵̡͘-̴̧-̀͠͝

Judy – with her wrists tied behind the new seat instead of onto it – finds little comfort in her captor being absent from the room. Knowing she can't escape him unless Nick opens that door, she otherwise would like to at least keep track of him. But despite intently monitoring him these last few hours, Ross has suddenly just vanished. She swears she just blinked when he walked off towards the river, just out of sight behind a pillar.

He's been missing for the better part of an hour now, and all she can do is be left with her own thoughts.

" _Here's what's going to happen,"_ Ross had said when he tied her to another chair. " _He's going to come here, find you, then I threaten your life, get his confession, then I arrest him and we take all he's said to court. He'll be convicted, but you'll both be unharmed. A kindness, don't you think? Given what he's done._ "

But it will never hold in court. Confessions brought about by this sort of coercion is never recognized. You can get anyone to say anything if you pressure them like that, and it's an old and simple rule even. If Ross is even a fraction as intelligent as they say he is, he must know that it's a half-baked plan, one that will never work.

And… perhaps he _does_ know.

Because Judy is afraid that he has ulterior motives instead. Even with his instances of sanity, Judy can tell that his faculties are still mostly functioning, so he should have long figured out that his plan is doomed to fail. So what else is he planning?

She leans her head back, her skull touching the backrest, causing her to wince. It still hurt, the bruise from her fight with him, a token of incredibly terrifying strength. And then it dawns on her that he is stronger than both herself and Nick, faster too.

Where their enemies were strong, they were fast. Where they were fast, they were stronger together. Where neither of those worked, they were most certainly smarter. But Ross has none of these weaknesses, nothing but his madness that only makes him more dangerous.

And what if Ross is right and Nick comes here alone? If Ross has anything graver planned, then coming here would be suicide! And yet Nick would chance it anyway, for her, as she would.

Panic rises through her form as she frantically looks about for another way out. Pulling the same trick earlier where she'd snap the monoblock's backrest would be significantly harder now that she's tied behind it. It would just press into her back, her spine resisting, but she could still break it. She huffs and puffs, the tempo in her chest, rapid and frantic as she realizes that she doesn't have a plan for afterward. Maybe she could sprint off into one of the other rooms, hiding from Ross until Nick came along. But what would that achieve? She certainly couldn't risk getting out on the off chance that there might be another exit here somewhere. And the river itself could kill her down the way and out with its rapids.

And just as she's fresh out of ideas, Ross comes back into view, walking passed her towards the tunnel.

Her heart stops, watching him walk slowly, eyes menacing as he seems to stare at something at the door. She wonders if it's Nick he sees, but then he'd be at her throat to make good on the threat. And she doesn't want to think about the alternative, that Ross might abandon the plan altogether and just go for Nick's throat.

Ross eyes the tunnel with caution managing his footsteps, feeling his madness consume his vision. Normally he'd back away from such an illusion, but his fists are still aching from their last confrontation and – albeit feebly – he wants nothing more than to try and beat the ghost again.

The shadows that coil around the tunnel merge into a slate black texture, almost viscous where the water might be.

In the light he sees him, his old self staring back at him, arms crossed, with shades of pity in his irises. But more than that, the figment seems taller, stronger, an imposing figure that is nothing like the broken man before it.

And somehow, Ross himself feels like the shadow to this glowing apparition, this ghost of yesteryear.

" _This abandonment will only end in pain and misery,_ " his other self says. " _Stop now and save yourself._ "

"You and I both know it's too late for that," Ross says, quelling his anger as he walks passed his old self, into the side room where the light pours out of the grate up above.

He stares hard into the beam of sunlight of mid-afternoon and wishes Eli were here to stand in it like she did when they were newlyweds, dancing under the sun in their safe little haven. Here where the world forgets them, where all they are is each other.

But she is gone now. Even the memory seems to slip form his mind, all aspects of him having long since been lost, and now her… she fades into obscurity, the warmth at even the thought of her disappearing in his growing madness.

A numbness coils into his feet, running cold into his spine as his mind seems to fall into it, his delusions consuming his vision as the sun disappears, and the trees up above turn to tendrils that lash into the sky like shadows dancing against the flame. They are ethereal, weightless as their tips cascade vestiges of ash over his form till even his clothes fade into the darkness.

What is he now? Is he a vengeful spirit? A walking husk? Is he Rostetler Rundi? Or is he something else?

And the crows caw and his eyes shoot open, the sky darkening as night consumes the day. How long has he been standing here?

" _It's never too late, Ross,_ " his other self says, his voice seeming to mimic someone he can't quite remember.

"Nothing can bring her back." He turns to the apparition, his expression heavy with some dejection as he watches the cleaner man level his eyes, hope in there somewhere. "It's all… _pointless_ now," Ross says gravely, gritting his teeth.

Ross growls, fury ebbing into his veins. "But I will set this entire town on fire if it means I kill _him_ in the process."

He makes to pass the apparition by but a steady hand stops him. He stares into the eyes of his better half, the one that might still be inside somewhere. But with grit teeth and another scowl, he rejects it entirely.

He swipes at the figment, his claw slashing harmlessly against his cheek but causing him to stumble back. Ross hooks him with his left, uppercutting with his right just after. He tackles then pounds his fists into the figure below him, his own fists bleeding from loosened bandages. He strikes and claws at the impenetrable illusion, growling and screaming as water splashes into his face and burns into his eyes, but he goes on, and on, and on, the world erupting around him as all he knows is pain.

And then he cuts him, the old him bleeding from the cheek, the burning, slick red pouring out of it only serving to encourage him further. And again he strikes at the man who doesn't lift a finger to fight back. He tears into him, ripping out flesh and muscle with an unabated anger, volcanic and viscous against his bruised knuckles that burn against the force pulsing up his arms and into his elbows.

Then his claws find purchase, hooking into him to tear out more, and more, and more until his vision turns a deep dark red and the man beneath him no longer has a face to recognize.

Then Ross wipes his eyes, trying to clear the blood but leaving more instead as his knuckles shake from their reopened wounds. He feels a soreness that rockets through his arms and the hard, bated breathing that he feels pool out of his throat. On his knees, he clutches himself, sobbing as he begs for her warmth once more, roaring into the deep dark sky as the figments fade away, and all that is left is the clarity of his madness, now all consuming, destroying the world he knows because in his mind it no longer exists.

And in his madness, Ross is left adrift in the darkness as he shuts his eyes and feels her warmth touch his injured cheek one more time. He raises a hand to take hers, but instead all he finds is the bleeding cut that stings to the touch, and _her_ lost in the ether of some far away afterlife.

Alone and hopeless, despairing at the crushing defeat, Ross pours his pain into the ancient walls that echo his derelict madness back to him.

It fills the spaces and surges through the halls, even where Judy can hear it.

Were circumstances different, she might have pitied him, but all she can think of is how the man has openly abandoned everything in his madcap search for Carrion, immersing himself in a worthless theory just so he can tell himself he's still moving in some direction rather than staying stagnant like the rest of the town did all those years ago.

Desperate and furious, Ross embodies the peak of Carrion's curse. And Judy knows only to fear a man like that, one with nothing left to lose.


	19. Rapturous Desperation (pt. 2)

Liz Waterdale doesn't know what she's doing. Actually, no, she knows exactly what she's doing. She's willfully allowing a man to take her virginity in a trying and desperate time in the backseat of her squad car... and it isn't with her boyfriend.

Suther Reese is everything she's been told never to look for in a man. He is not future-proof, but he lives in today and lives it doing what he loves. He isn't a musician, but he loves all the music she does and he doesn't even know she can sing. He isn't a romantic who does nothing that would typically sweep one off their feet, but he listens to her pains and squeezes them away till all she can do is laugh and he doesn't stop until then. He isn't of an academic mind, but his is a practical one, creative enough to work a case.

And most of all, he isn't an otter, but she's actually taken the time to fall in love with him instead of being told she has to.

She most certainly didn't think she even _is_ the cheating type but she knows she does not love Reeder as much as she loves Reese.

It isn't like her boyfriend has any negative qualities. He's an academic, an athlete, a good man, and an old friend. But history is not a basis for love, it is a facet, and if that is all they share then how can they call it love?

All she knows with any certainty is that she loves the armadillo hunching over her, kissing her amidst his steady tempo, and meets every thrum of his heart with her own desperate gasp, clutching onto his uniform as she arcs her back upwards, her chest meeting his in a cognizance's folly laced with pains and sorrows pouring out of their lungs in ignorant euphoria.

And she whispers sweet nothings to him as the cascade of their mutual woes – the idea that this is wrong and altogether too soon – is buried beneath their sweat and saliva, a volley of fluids that mixes with every heated meet of their lips.

Then he stops kissing her, taking a moment to look down at her with a breathlessness that overwhelms her, watching his hands slowly caress each and every inch of her before leaning down to kiss as much of her as he can, as if worshipping her every feature and fault, every crevice and curve. And suddenly, Liz Waterdale, feels more beautiful than she ever has before as he reveres her body, fingers running along her fur as if she's a precious gem, glistening, and rare.

And with all the world swirling in the mid-afternoon sun, Liz spies the quiet pains etched into his features. The scarring along the shell cupping his head seems to glow against the sun, burning hard as what pains that might have come from it inch out as if the wound were reopened. She sees the momentary trembling in his grasp, struggling to perform for the woman she hopes that he loves. And her hands fall to his chest, finding his rapid breathing thrum against her grasp. She feels him ache, knows his terror and his suffering, and takes it with all that she can, and kisses him once more.

The heated moment ends all too soon, as his final plunge tosses her off the edge with him, bursting in a cry that would tear the sky in two. And when the moment is over, reality slowly returns to them as the crows cawing just outside the car window reminds them that they're still in a public area, no matter how secluded the rear parking of the Rogue's Gallery might be.

She huffs and giggles, kissing him as he falls to her side, pulling her up to rest against his chest, gently relishing in the moment for all the few minutes it might still last.

So he cradles her still, lets his hands wander so he might remember this moment forever. Every curve and every feature, etched permanently, reverently, feverishly.

She pulls her head up, staring down at her lover with what she hopes looks like adoration, tilting her head at the lopsided grin he returns. "I feel safe around you," she says, voice so low he could have sworn it was a whisper.

"You make me feel complete," he says in an attempt to sound romantic, prompting her to laugh. Cause it's cheesy and corny and so out of touch with what courtship is like outside of fiction that it's charming in its own way. Because she honestly doesn't know a whole lot either, and she's almost certain that this might be the first time she's ever truly felt it.

When they're done cleaning up and sit together at the front seat of the car, Liz lets herself go and crawls into his seat, sitting on his lap as she kisses him once more.

"You love me, right?"

"I don't think I'm capable of otherwise." _That's better,_ she thinks.

"You've bewitched me, mind, body, and soul," he continues, voice dramatic and tempered. "And I, for the weaknesses in a man, have been awed and captivated beyond my ability to speak – with any articulation – of what this coward's heart feels for such an impossible, unreachable, and utterly divine thing."

She is almost cowed into thinking he'd come up with that himself, staring long and hard at him before she cups her mouth finally with her little hands, as she violently shakes away the fluster and mirth in her cheeks. He pokes her in the belly, and she laughs and swats his hand. "Pfft! What are you quoting?"

He grins readily. "Movies you'll never watch, with lines that I'll claim for my own."

For a moment they feel that they can forget the world outside of the car, but it's ephemeral and altogether foolish because they have a job to do. But they are defiant young things with too much to want and not enough to lose.

So they lean into the seat as they let their exhaustion catch up with their bodies, muting the town and the crows, the whispers of townsfolk and their footsteps.

And Reese falls asleep to the sweet hum from her tiny lips.

* * *

Sam remembers Ross's villa when it once belonged to Alexander Wolfgang, and back then it was a different time, almost a different life. They chased a ghost then, more myth than man, and everyday it felt more and more like they'd never catch him. And yet, here and now, with a certain height, and feasible estimates on their board, identifying Carrion with some certainty, she feels like they're just about there, clasping at his coat tails, the demon just out of reach.

So once they divert all their efforts back to catching Carrion when this entire Ross debacle is sorted out, maybe they'll finally catch him.

And that hope alights a fire inside of her, the idea that her hauntings might finally be quelled is more than just a little exciting, it's relieving. And so her muscles loosen and her breath evens out, coming onto the cobblestone path towards Ross's front door.

Terence pushes the door open, glancing at her from over his shoulder. "You alright, Sam?"

She blinks at the quizzical wolf. "Yeah, I am." Fists pressing onto her hips, she gives him a smirk and a raised brow. "Why? Is there something on my face or something, hotshot?"

"No, but you seem… more relaxed somehow."

"Don't think about it too much, Kaenid, we've still got a job to do. My little nuances should take a backseat in that noggin of yours."

He would normally make to argue but this is neither the time nor the place. But Terence is a man with a curious mind and he can't help but watch how Sam seems to eye the walls with some reminisce. He knows she was here ten year ago for the first kidnappings but the spaces around them seem to fill her with some sense of mysticism.

He makes sure she doesn't catch him, but he gives up the minute she turns her attention to the kitchen, staying there as Terence wanders into the garden across the front door.

Sam herself is astonished by the place, most the same from when she first came here. Though she supposes that they sold the home fully furnished.

She remembers first meeting Wolfgang here, lazily munching a sandwich on the island counter as Bogo approaches him with a few hard questions. The cheeky canine even offered them one of his, and Sam would not deny that she partook. But it's only because that in comparison to the other suspects, Wolfgang actually made the effort to be pleasant despite – or perhaps because of – being marked as the most likely suspect.

He'd tried to charm her once, a bouquet of cheap flowers and a bottle of whiskey, all so he can convince her to get the ZPD off his back. He'd vanished not long after she declined, and Wolfgang was swiftly kidnapped by Carrion.

It is memories like these that give her pause as she oft wonders what the town might have been like had they not jumped to conclusions about who Carrion might be. Nick and Judy certainly didn't jump the gun and now they're closer than ever! But the comparison is not what pains her. Kurt Bellows gave his all until his dying breath just so he can avenge his family, Alexander Wolfgang went crazy to the point of suicide. Their involvement might have only encouraged more victims, and with the way Carrion has been operating, their presence might have forced his hand even further.

But regardless, it isn't like they can leave the town to their own devices. They'll find Carrion and bring this place justice.

Sam then takes a moment to really look over the place.

As far as she's seen the home, it's all been quite… structured. Everything is in its place, from the ascending bloodline in the pictures on the walls that end at Ross and Eli, down to the kitchenware that is neatly organized down to the polished china in the cupboards. Though all distinctly non-spanish, it feels like a home that is almost too clean to be lived in.

And the meticulous attention to an almost obsessively orderly home is everything that makes it all so jarring. Because Ross is nothing like the home he's been living in, and that disturbs her alongside everything else. It is a contrast that might never right itself.

And then Sam wonders what happens next. What happens after they catch Ross? Putting him in prison won't fix anything, cause as a man who has famously wormed his way through a cargo ship full of Luciano thugs undetected, she has no doubt that he would successfully attempt an escape. And who knows what he'll do after that?

She shakes away the thoughts. _One step at a time._

Sam enters the garden then, spotting Terence picking away at the mesh of ash at his feet, particles flitting about him in the afternoon sun, the rays parted by the overhead trees, looking like smoke. "What'd you find?" she asks him, letting her footfalls crunch under the dead embers like gray snow.

He shrugs, hints of dejection in his eyes as his lips curl in a frustrated scowl. "Nothing yet other than a few useless memorabilia. I'm doubtful a boxing glove would yield anything for our investigation."

"Hm," she murmurs contemplatively, cradling an arm that cups her even mouth with her fingers. "What exactly did you find?"

"Well aside from the boxing glove…" he unzips the duffle bag he's had slung over his shoulder, pulling out the zip-locked items. "A pocket watch with Ross's name engraved on it, the remains of a baseball, a cotton sweater, and a few books."

She tilts her head at the way the books are charred at an edge along a descending pattern, as if they had been burnt together. "Let me have a look at that."

Examining them closely, she finds that some of the books, perhaps the heavier ones, might have fallen out of the stack. "Where'd you find these?" she asks.

"Behind this…" he turns back to eye the mess of collapsed wood that was once a gazebo, "well whatever it was, the books were stacked behind it."

Sam shifts over to that area, eying the collapsed structure with intrigue. It's like an effigy Ross failed to admonish, failing to destroy every part of him that she knows he tried to abandon. And if its symbolism sustains, then perhaps enough of him is still in there, enough that might be worth saving. But the world is very rarely so kind, nothing like the fairy tales. Then she considers that the parts of Ross that remained were only the husk, enough to make a madman but not enough to resemble who he was.

She finds the spot where Terence unearthed the books and eyes wearily along the sea of gray across from it. Her feet, sunken beneath the ash, ply their way through the dust, searching for something. And it isn't long until her toes find something down there.

Quickly slipping on a pair of rubber gloves, Sam digs for the remaining books. She pulls out three that have varying degrees of damage. "I found them," she tells Terence from across the small garden.

"Really?" he asks, standing up to look at her. "Anything good?"

"Two textbooks and…" She trails off, head tilting at the largest one, a rectangular brown one that she shifts to the top of the stack, cradling them under an arm. She opens it and finds the clean, almost expertly written cursive of Rostetler Rundi on and around some sketches of buildings and landscapes. She notes Ross's signature on the bottom right of it – well away from the scorch marks on the top right – and finds that the first few sketches date back to the year 1998. "It's an old sketchbook."

"Ugh," Terence groans, "useless then? I was hoping for a journal or something but a sketchbook?"

"Not so fast, hotshot," she cautions, flipping through the pages, "this is Ross's personal sketchbook. He might have written something important in it."

She travels through the sketches he's made over the years, all of them plans for the future or moments he's frozen in time. In some where his wife is drawn or simply mentioned, he writes little letters or poems to her. He was an articulate man, a romantic one besides. He promises her tomorrows filled with bliss, of candlelit dinners and hot coffee on rainy days. He worships days of yesteryear, where she is the center of all that gives him joy. And he gives her today, _everyday,_ for as long as he lives, christening every morning and every night with silent reverence to her every feature and every flaw, and enshrines them in his very being, to love her with each heartbeat, loving more and more with each thrum, wanting nothing and no one else.

Sam is given pause, fingers running through the old handwritten text with some uncertainty. Ross was once a great man, a great husband and… perhaps a great friend. She can only imagine what all of this is doing to the people who knew him as such, being forced to recognize him as the crazed lunatic he's become. If anyone she's known were to change so drastically… she wouldn't know what to do with herself.

She looks to Terence as he works his way through the dust, finding what he can from the wreck, lifting some charred fur with some prongs, and she wonders just what the wolf thought of him. "Hey, Kaenid, what was Ross like to you before this shit storm?"

Her sudden question surprises him, but his expression quickly makes way for his sullen gaze, drifting to a life he isn't quite sure he even properly remembers anymore, and it was only a week ago. "There are reasons why everyone saw him as the up-and-coming sheriff. He was a good man with a level head, laced with tact and certainty, not a single breath wasted from him, not a single word unimportant. He was relatively quiet and reserved but spoke with brevity, fixed to be concise and…" He utters a single sardonic laugh, bitter and dour, hand pressing into his gray fur. His eyes then transfix to her, hard lines along his features. "He would have made a great sheriff," he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

"I know that you're next in line after him," Sam says, hiding away the seriousness with what she hopes is nonchalance. "But… do you still have hope that he'll recover?"

Terence shakes his head. "That job isn't important to me. I'll decline it as soon as Creed offers. And yes, I do certainly _hope_ that Ross does, but I'm doubtful he ever will."

She asks no further questions, much to Terence's relief, both of them returning to work.

Sam leafs through the pages further and further until she finds repeats for the same one, a sketch of some structure with a river running through it. And then she realizes that they aren't repeats.

Her eyes go wide. This is the canal Nick and Tali were talking about!

Several pages are dedicated to mapping out a network built into a canal, and Ross makes notes of nooks and crannies, quiet places and routes in and out of the place. Some are notes of old secrets like a suit of armor pressing against a wall, a hollowed out space where an office might have been built, but best of all, Ross makes note of a large area and a favorite spot just passed a tunnel off the side of the river, into a wide open room where Ross had picnics with Eli.

To Sam it is every indication that he should be there with Judy. He mentions that he found the key to the only door into that place still stuck in the doorknob. It's wide and secluded, with only one exit he can easily keep tabs on.

"Sam?" Terence asks, drawing her out of her stupor, which she quickly replaces with a determined gaze. "What'd you find?"

"I found the layout of the canal. Phone Nick up. I'll map out a route later but I may know where in that hellhole Ross is keeping Judy."

* * *

"What do you have?" Nick asks over the video call, Tali beside him as they stand at the foot of the forest, the great barks towering over them into the misty canopy above.

"Some charred fur," Terence answers immediately before Sam can speak. "Looks like Ross almost burnt himself."

"He's suicidal now. You think he tried to burn himself too?" Nick doesn't spare a glance at Tali who he's sure is wincing at the idea.

"Looks like it." Terence glances back at the collapsed gazebo, where the ghost of the great flame that once consumed it. Ross, he considers, might have been mesmerized by it, the embers dancing like fireflies against the golden glow abreast with the skeletal remains of the structure, framing the tall and vibrant pyre like a gateway, an escape. "But if he tried to kill himself, then what stopped him?"

Tali nearly gasps as her lithe fingers press against her paper thin lips, the hard and bitter recollection of last night's events finally come together into something coherent. "The only thing that could…"

Nick turns to her, his jade irises flashing. "And what's that?"

"Eli," she tells them, daring to enlighten them, to perchance that her plight might yield something useful after all.

"His wife? But she's dead!" Sam intones over the phone, the hard line against her brows creasing.

Tali doesn't want to say, almost dares to tell them she is joking, but she cannot allow her insecurities to cloud her judgment on a delicate situation like this. "I don't know how accurate I'm being but… he was being affectionate to me before, but it wasn't like it was _me_ he was talking to. He called me 'Eli' last night. He may have been hallucinating her in his madness over... me."

Nick blinks at her, trying to find the pain in her eyes that faintly etch her soft features. But even as she struggles not to show it, he can tell that she is harried inside, sundered by rejection and… something else. Something darker. Perhaps fear.

"So we're dealing with a loon who's also hallucinating?" Terence states over the phone, drawing them out of their moment.

"Well, _fuck,_ " Sam growls, palm pressing against her forehead, "as if the guy wasn't dangerous enough as it is." Ross is a threat, a magnanimous one if his record holds even the tiniest vestige of truth, but to know that a man with his skillset and strength has gone completely unstable is every indication that Judy, as tough and stoic as she might be, is very much in danger.

They have to find her today, otherwise it might be too late.

"There's something else," Sam adds, finally, pressing on with business.

"What is it?" Tali asks.

Sam pulls the sketchbook into view, the faded dark tan of its surface accompanied by scorch marks across one edge. "This belongs to Ross. It maps out a wide area with a river running through it, so it's likely the canal. The place seems huge according to all the measurements, and it's a disjointed fucking mess but I've got an idea where she might be held but I'll need to map it out for everyone. I'll send you all the details when we get this thing sorted out."

Nick pulls the phone's camera to him, staring hard into the device as he fixes Sam with a serious face. "Where is he keeping her?"

Sam obliges him, flipping through the pages until she finds the right sketch. She holds it into view, pointing at the details of a large open area with a narrow passage that connects to it. "It says that he used to have picnics with his wife here," she points to a line drawn onto the sketch that connects to a box of text below, "the date of their marriage is even etched into the floor."

Her hand then shifts to the narrow tunnel where she gestures to a circular side room with a storm drain. "And this is likely where Judy saw the trees and got herself a signal."

Nick squints at it before taking a screenshot to look over it later. "Thanks, Sam. When my informants tell me where the place is, be sure to send your guide to us."

"I'll work as fast as I can. Just don't do anything reckless, alright?"

The call ends and Nick meanders off with Tali's phone, leaning against a tree as he stares at the picture.

It's familiar to him somehow, the ghost of a memory giving color to the sketched stonework, its texture running through his padded fingers amidst the sound of an old song that echoes through its walls. Paris, he thinks, but doesn't quite remember what it means, or how it relates. But the sensation is almost vivid, almost surreal.

And something tells him that he's been there before, a memory locked away beneath a hundred more. A part of him thinks he's mixing a different memory with the present, but he'll know for sure once he's down there.

A commotion on the road distracts him from his thoughts, eying the few deputies parked about him. They've lined up the forest in different areas here in the north, prepared to go any which way into it when Nick's informant tells them where to go.

And one of them, an otter whom he recalls is Liz's boyfriend, is gasping and wheezing, falling to his knees as his friends attempt to calm him down. Nick makes to approach but Tali is already there, stopped by the capybara who tells her what's happened.

Tali gasps, a shock that ripples through her frame. She shakes her head, almost angry at whatever she's being told.

Nick slows his approach then, her meeting him halfway as he hands her back her phone. "Liz has been kidnapped," she tells him, an amalgam of emotions running through her harrowed features. "She and Reese were sleeping in their squad car and when he awoke, she was gone, with all her valuables left on the dashboard."

The mortified look on his face twists to mimic hers, running through the same dejected emotions. Because of course Carrion hasn't stopped. How could he have possibly forgotten? It was foolish to think that the town would stay still for even a day just because Judy has been kidnapped.

And so the shadow that stalks him still, the creeping boney hands of Carrion's curse, lingering across the air, feeds desolation and defeat to all that witnesses it. Because that monster is still at large, amongst them, preying on them.

And yet all Nick can do in the face of it… is turn away. Because the world can fall apart, loosen at its seams, and he would still choose to save her alone. And though the bitter idea that he would sacrifice this day, and perhaps Liz's life – who he has come to know as a friend – in the pursuit of saving Judy is a prospect he feels only the faintest hint of remorse.

It is something that will haunt him forever just as Smith's death has, but he will endure.

_I'm so sorry…_

"Officer Wilde," comes the scruffy voice of a leopard, emerging from the forest with a phone in hand. He is dressed in black, expensive, silken cloth unfit for forest trekking but done with anyway, a Luciano by all accounts. "I've just collected all the details for you. I'm sending you the directions."

Nick's phone rings as he checks it, speeding through the instructions quickly.

The leopard presses on his ear piece, speaking to his colleagues as Nick's eyes trace the text. "We're not getting any more mixed up in this than we already are," he says to them both, "but it would be best to be wary, they apparently heard screaming down there."

" _What!?_ " came Nick and Tali's uniform cry, already burdened by everything else on top of this.

"It wasn't _her_ that was screaming," he cautions, "it was Ross. He was punching the stones, it sounded like. Sounded meaty too, apparently. He may be bleeding from his fists."

More questions and Nick wastes no time trying to figure them out. Instead, he shakes his head and doesn't even spare them a glance before eying the warning post beside him then bolting off into the forest.

Tali makes to stop him but he's already gone, quickly out of sight in the tree line. _Good god, he's fast._

The leopard is about to walk off but Tali grabs him by the shoulder. "You're not going anywhere."

He huffs. "I told you, we're not getting any more involved."

She gives him an incredulous look that suddenly makes him feel like a complete idiot. "Are you kidding me!? He just ran in there with the directions without sending them to the rest of us! So forward that message to me _now!_ "

The leopard frantically copies the text with her number tacked onto it. Tali herself stares into the thicket and wonders where Nick is, shaking her head at the sight of his desperation. He's going in alone, because he's afraid of losing her by wasting time.

And in spite of everything that's already happening, she clutches her chest in abject fear, worrying that Nick's impatience might kill him.

She clenches her face, trying to bury her woes. " _Fucking hurry up!_ "

* * *

Nick sprints into the forest alone, the last bleeding vestiges of misty orange light pouring off the sunset slowly disappearing under the shadow of twilight, turning the warm golden rays into cool ocean blues in the stagnant vibrancy of the autumn air, a contrast of colors further warped by the augury overhead crows.

He bolts through two trees marked with red paint, glancing down to parallel where they align like a triangle. He kicks off from there, plunging himself into the woods further and further till even the police sirens from behind become muffled before vanishing beneath the crows' cawing which grows fainter and then louder in uneven cadence.

His footfalls crunching over fields of fallen leaves are the only sounds for what feels like miles, and he is adrift in the darkness amongst it that seems to magnify the dead silence, almost ethereal as the light slowly fades into dark.

But not before he reaches his first checkpoint.

_Head north of the warning post then through two marked trees, following their conjoined roots like an arrow. Head straight until you see a large splintered boulder of iron ore, find its fractured point that's peeled off its side then head in the direction it's pointing._

The mass of abandoned iron and the decayed remains of some crushed carriage that once dared to heft it is telling of the old, medieval city that once demanded such hefty ores, a piece of history long forgotten, so aged and in its silent residence in the forest that it has begun sprouting vines and hosting nests.

He circles the broken stone, until he finds the lopsided piece that sits like an arrowhead, pointing out into the distance.

He runs off from there, hoping to find the sound of the river soon as he watches the darkness engulf what light there is, night vision adjusting for as well as it can.

It's then that he realizes that he didn't relay the guide to the rest of the police. He pulls up his phone and prepares to forward it as he sprints through the dark, only to find that the signal is fluctuating and mostly failing.

He shakes his head, a frustration pouring out of the hard line of his lips in a curse.

Instead he trusts that they'd get a hand of that Luciano before he leaves. Surely at least Tali would have the sensibility to correct his mistake.

But if not, he's already too far off to go back now.

Of course he shouldn't have gone in alone but he can't wait for anyone else. Cause neither Carrion nor his curse will wait for him in this damned town. And even though it's a hard maybe with Ross that perhaps he'd be patient with Nick in so far as Judy is concerned, the idea that she doesn't even need to be alive for Nick to come to him only furthers his resolve to press on with abandon, taking no chances.

He is desperate, angry, and sullen; each fueling his every step through the shadowed grounds that coil into the woods like great gods looming over him, shrouding the canopy and him, making him feel more alone than he actually is, more than what he's felt.

And he fights it, that bitter twinge in the air that pollutes his mind, weakening him. His abject desperation is all he has at this moment, the last thing he clings ti in the hopes that it will be enough to numb the pain that he knows is coming. Because as he hears the whistling surge of the river up ahead, he already feels the ache in his legs, the shock of every harried step taking its toll on his legs.

_When you finally find the river, head upstream and don't stop. When it looks like the water goes underground, keep going parallel to it till you see the river reconnect to the surface again._

Logan's Respite is the most recluse river in town – a stark contrast to its sister river, Logan's Passage – because as much as it is long, too much of it sinks beneath the surface, hiding much of its length in naturally occurring undergrounds tunnels. And there are tales about it, ones Nick would much rather not have occupying his right now, about suicides and whispering sirens in the underwater caverns, omens of death that only remind him of the dire situation he and Judy are in. And all these legends come from a place that most people thought didn't even exist! A culmination of bad signs all in one slither of water.

He stops to catch his breath, still ragged as it pumps unsteadily out of his heaving chest, sweat trickling off his brow. Only now does he discover how tired he is, having run nonstop up until this point. He can run pretty far but he's so out of it, running on fumes as he barely remembers what he ate for lunch, or if even ate at all.

But then he rights himself, a fist pounding against his chest as he growls and presses on.

He conserves his energy on the embankment, taking a moment to drink from the cold waters beneath him. It's refreshing, the cool drink wetting his dry mouth, an appreciative pop from his lips just after.

It's dark, more than anything else that is, but his night vision serves him well. And the clear, unperturbed lines of sight and a calm, even moment both serve as bane and boon. Because on one hand he can let himself rest, but on the other, his night vision is still limited in distance so he's afraid that he might miss the next part of the guide if he doesn't peer through the dark close enough.

_Somewhere along the river's side is a dirt opening in the thicket, separate from the grass. Here you'll find a makeshift grave: a rifle embedded into the ground with a helmet on top of its stock. Find the rifle's wrapped scope and follow where that points._

Minutes of walking make him feel impatient, looking about too frantically to even remotely claim that he's in any control of his own agitated senses. His nerves are racked.

Nick's eyes turn skyward for long enough to take in the stars, breathing in the air as he prays his body still has strength enough to save her. His world feels so bleak without her, empty as the gaps between the stars, left with only this perilous crusade for her, endangering himself to Ross's madness – a man, he realizes, that has most certainly felt the same maddening isolation.

He didn't even bother to take anyone else with him, but everyone else would be too cautious, too slow. And right now, so is he.

He is about to sprint off as he groans, but then he realizes that he's been walking for a good few minutes and he's already in the clearing. And only a few scant feet from him is the soldier's grave in question.

The grave is arranged carefully, fitted to last in its spot. The M1 Garand is buried deep and surrounded by stones, sturdy in its position, unmoving after years of being here. The metallic identification tags wrap around the stock tightly, intertwined with the bindings of the helmet and the loose cloth wrappings on the scope. The helmet itself is tied to the weapon, marked with an engraved eagle with a painted black shield behind it, the _Screaming Eagles_ from the war, a sign that it might have been from Henry Avery's company from the war, a brother-in-arms taken too soon.

He briefly wonders if he'll meet the same fate, dying in battle against a formidable foe, but Nick hopes he never has to fight Ross.

A sudden caw from a crow startles him then, reaching instinctively for the weapon on his hip. But then he realizes that he doesn't even have it, having abandoned in his car. But he feels it still pressing against his hip, a safe zone that calls out to him, asking him to do what he thought he would never be able to do, to kill someone. So he suppresses that demon raging inside of him, the errant allure that seemed to emanate from the phantom weapon, telling him to harm Ross, to be mad enough to want to end him.

" _You're not taking your firearm?"_ he remembers Tali asking.

Nick can't let himself give in to it and risk Judy in the process. The weapon won't win, he tells himself. He doesn't need it. There doesn't need to be any more bloodshed.

" _Maybe we can reason with him,"_ he answered her then, not really believing himself, but daring to hope.

_Just a few feet in the direction of the scope is a mound in the dirt. Its old stonework is not visible until you veer off the left side to see the iron door that acts as its entrance. Inside you'll find the canal you were looking for. Best of luck to you, Officer Wilde._

His steps are careful then, looking back to the rifle just to be sure he's oriented right, and then it isn't long till he sees the clear mound in the dirt. And, sure enough, he finds the rusted iron door at the end of some descending steps.

_This is it._

His breath is hitched as the groaning underbelly of the canal whistles through the crack in the door, swaying in the wind easily despite its weight. Approaching it, he finds that the door moves rather smoothly, noting the oiled hinges. Perhaps it's a last courtesy of the Luciano's… or an invitation from Ross.

Before he enters, he spots a colorful yet amateur painting of a turtle on the left hand side of the door. It's familiar somehow, a memory that's more recognizable to him if he squints at it to blur the image.

Have I been here before?

He walks in to find the steady darkness, equally familiar in its state. Instinctively, he feels for the wall on his left, running them along until he finds a set of light switches. All of them are fake though, all but one (partially that is).

_Pull the cover off that one, the real light switch is a button._

He pulls off the loose plastic cap off the middle switch, pressing a button beneath it. It's then that the canal lights up as the sound of some sputtering generator comes to life. Christmas lights dot the ceiling, trailing towards the left.

He remembers the lights too, when they were more blinding, when they hurt his eyes. He remembers the pain, recalls it almost vividly, more than anything else, and from that he can deduce. _I was drunk when I was first here._

And then it comes together in his mind, faint images cobbled together in a puzzle piece that will forever remain incomplete, but enough of it is there, enough to get the gist of the picture.

He came here, once upon a time, with his now late friend Smith who wanted to show him something down in this canal. He remembers taking a different route through the forest, something about a dirt road and some cans. But all he really knows for sure at this moment is that Smith was only sober enough to drive them here while Nick was piss drunk. That is, until they finally made it to—

_There's a shack here somewhere!_

He doesn't quite know the way but he follows the lights that string through a single, faintly familiar path in the tunnel's maze-like halls.

Fleeting memories of a damp pant leg, winding halls with an entire poem painted onto it, a plywood bridge over a river, dropping a bottle of scotch somewhere in the water, and a song all come to mind. He doesn't yet know what order they come in, but he finds out on the way.

The plywood bridge is old but sturdy, nailed together to ensure longevity. The poem on the wall is sadly ruined until he realizes that it's a miracle that any of it survived at all, the chalk writing having mostly been purged by water, faint signs of the words still remaining higher up where the water couldn't touch it.

He comes upon a familiar platform stained by unnamable liquids, and it doesn't take his skills as a detective to figure out that they all bleed off the wooden wall to his side. _It's in there._

He pushes into it but it's stuck somehow. " _You'll need ta' shoulder check it, John,_ " he hears Smith say, his voice seeming to emanate from that room. He also remembers that it took both of them to ram into it the first time he was here, but perhaps he's strong enough.

His shoulder slams into it with too much force, dropping him to the ground. When he looks up, he sees a glimpse of the old him carved into a tiny, hideaway shack. In the tiny hovel is a coffee table with a mocha fedora he used to wear, a desk with maps strewn about it with a pale blue thermos with the name _John_ etched into it, a cooler where he had stashed some expensive wine once, and a lovingly polished brass record player.

And around the center are two reclining chairs, one a deep faded blue splotch with whatever stains Smith might have spilt in his days here, while the other is a deep crimson only faded slightly along the backrest and seat, plus it's wrapped in vacuum-sealed plastic. A fond yet bitter memory fills the seats, one meshed with slurs and a sheer lack of coordination.

" _I love this chair, Smith. Best chair in the damn country,_ " Nick announced, twirling his scotch at his wrist.

Smith laughed at him, falling back into his own seat, mirth bubbling from his slurred lips. " _Tell you what, John, you tell me yer real name and it's yers._ "

He blinked at him, a moment of shock so genuine that he feels himself sober right at the thought. " _You can't be serious._ "

He doesn't remember what happened after that, but Smith hadn't known his real name till he confessed so it's likely that he never told him back then. But the chair itself is wrapped, vacuum sealed, and by the looks of the vacuum itself still next to it, it was wrapped recently. Nick wonders if Smith had decided to give it to him as per the agreement since he knew his real name already.

He'll avenge Smith, that's for damn sure.

He turns to leave, promising to come back later, but then he spots a vinyl resting against the foot of the record player. Under Paris Skies, it reads, and the song comes back to him. The smooth cello and violin feeding out of a solemn piano. And then the halls are suddenly filled with it and its wind instruments, its percussions and strings.

_I tell ya', John, one day I'll go see that city. I'll smell its air and kiss its women. I'll fall in love with that city, and I'll take this song with me._

The tunnels branch in myriad directions from his position, a maze that he realizes that he could have been able to navigate if he had waited for Sam to send him her analysis, but he was impatient, still is impatient, and would sooner perchance his own luck.

But he didn't need it.

As if on instinct, he first takes a left, the blurred outline of Smith somewhere at the end of that way.

_C'mon, I've somethin' ah' wanted ta' show ya._

His footfalls mimic the path he went through all those years ago, through over cracked cobblestone and familiar landmarks like a dagger in the wall and a discarded stool. And all the while, the song still ringing in his head like a distant melody, the symphony of an old friend pouring out of his spirit that lingers still.

It's always Smith at every corner, beckoning him further and further into the tunnels. But a sense of urgency still grips his sullen heart, reminding him that Judy is still in danger, and he's out here chasing ghosts. But he thinks that's where the memory leads, to a space he recognized from the sketchbook, the place Sam thinks Judy is being held in.

He prays that she's right.

Down one long path stretching into the darkness, he sees Smith standing out there, almost a speck from this distance. So he breaks into a sprint, dashing over the cobblestone that stretches into the darkness, his night vision faltering in the ever quickening, all-encompassing black.

Then Nick slips on a puddle, falling onto his arm. He winces at the pain rocketing through his joint, gritting his teeth as he bears with it. He doesn't know where he is anymore or if he's facing the right way. He pulls out his phone for light but it won't turn on. _Damn, I think I smashed it._

But somehow, even in the dark, he can still see Smith. He reaches out to him, only to find his hand grasping on a small docking pole.

_It can get mighty dark in here, so be sure to feel for the wall with yer right, but it ain't the most reliable thing on the planet since the wall's curved and clingin' to it will make ya slip, so keep your left hand out so you can find them wooden poles. When you touch one, be sure to give yourself an arm's length distance between yerself and it so you can stay in-center._

He makes his way slowly, his right foot being constantly caught on the slope of the wall, nearly slipping a few times again, but the poles keep him oriented, and soon he reaches the end of the path, chest tapping onto a railing. He grasps for it, and finds his night vision coming back to him, some light bleeding from an iron door on his right.

He feels over the rough iron chain that lines the iron bridge towards the door, light brimming off its fringed cracks. He eyes the ominous luminescence, and feels something creeping into him.

Fear. It is tangible and surreal, coursing through every fiber of his being as the world cascades heavy clarity, beating against his frame like raindrops against the heaving lungs in his back, resonating with his heart in his chest, reminding him of the man beyond the door, and just how terrifying that man might be, possessed by Carrion's curse, all-consumed

There is light pouring out of the foot of the door, and there glistening in that faint glow is a ringed iron key. He takes it, and wonders if the door is locked. And he finds that it is.

It's an invitation, a trap perhaps, but Ross is most certainly behind it.

But Nick cannot wait. And so, with a fearful gulp, he unlocks the door with a loud click.

The old metal screeches as he enters the darkened path, lit by a storm drain on the side, a candle on the floor, and the light pouring out of the room up ahead. His eyes fix onward, into the portal-like light that smells faintly of burning autumn and river water. It is ominous, grave and almost imposing, the entrance to a madman's lair.

He breaches the dark, taking cautious steps as the thrum in his chest beats faster and faster, harder and stronger still, firmly gripping his core, demanding that he be afraid. But on top of that there is a sense of fury tensing against his clenched knuckles, wanting very much to force her out of this hell and away from him, but his resolve dies when he emerges from the mouth of the tunnel, staring hard at the sight before him.

Ross is there, a soul distinctly absent from his eyes, staring at him with the ghost of a laugh lingering at his fanged lips. And in his hand is a bound Judy, her neck wrapped around his fingers as he dangles her over a monoblock chair, the tips of her toes standing atop it. There is a terrible strength lingering in his taut fingers, one that ensures Nick that if Ross were to kick away the chair his hand will act as a noose.

"Good to see you, John," Ross says, an enduring sense of sanity still locked into his otherwise menacing tone. "Glad you've finally managed to join us."

Nick approaches cautiously, a roaring unease filling every step, growing more and more as he eyes the man before him, madness so surreal that it would be remiss of him not to see it in the slight twitch in Ross's eyes.

In the very least he finds some comfort in knowing Judy is alive and, as far as he can tell, is relatively unharmed. "You know," Nick says easily, burying his terror beneath his wit, "I would have come to the party sooner if I had an invitation." Nick smiles, but it's clearly weak, but Judy finds comfort in it, even if it is an alarmingly fake display of self-assurance, there is confidence still that she can draw strength from.

And, much to Nick's surprise, Ross seems to buy it, never spotting his every vivid hint of faltering before him.

"I believed that the… mess I made was invitation enough." Ross looks away, a hysterical grin lining his bared fangs before he returns to Nick. "Besides, had I stayed much longer or, even tried to take you, you would have woken up and… well, I'm sure I would have killed you right there and then." Nick swallows at that, trying to keep his cool.

"Murder isn't _justice,_ is it, John? Though rightly deserved, there would have still been doubt about you, some might have even considered you innocent. And we couldn't have that now, could we? Because in the very _least,_ they deserve to know who you are with certainty. So they know where to pour all that… _hate._ " He clenches his free hand in a fist, his composure lost between the throes of vengeful, abject passion.

Judy herself is fearful of it, feeling every erstwhile tension in Ross against his fingers. She almost loses balance as his body tensed at that moment, and now she is fearful of his unspoken threat.

"So you know how this works, John." His eyes turn dangerous once more, body shifting as his entire frame appears monstrous, gigantic before them both. All that strength ready to crush him, and her if he doesn't cooperate.

But Nick raises his hands defensively, daring to chance at his sensibilities still, hoping that there's still enough of his old self in there to call back. He knows everyone at the station would have wanted him back, so maybe he could save him too. "Look, Ross, listen to yourself. You know you sound crazy, you _know_ you sound hysterical, but more than that, you are very much aware about what you've seen, about what's real and what isn't." Ross blinks at him then, tension in his body leaving him for a moment. "All of this is madness, but you can stop it. You can get help. Those people at the station are still willing to take you back, in no matter how many pieces you are. You know them, and you know _you_. And this _isn't_ you."

Ross pauses. He's right of course. He's very much aware of the madness sinking into his ever fractured psyche. A quivering hand rises to cup his head, if only to ascertain some semblance of sensation along his numb, sweating digits. He is on the verge of his madness, the furthest down into this crazed venture that he's ever been in, cause he can almost taste the justification for it, the capture of Nick Wilde, the Carrion Killer and yet…

" _It's not too late, Ross._ "

He doesn't know if Nick said it or if it's a memory thrust into the foreground, but it infuriates him, because it reminds him of the abandon he has wrought of himself, knowing full well that it is, in fact, much too late now.

" _ **No!**_ " he growls, hand almost tightening around Judy's neck, but squeezing tight enough to make her yelp. "No games, John!" He pulls out a combat knife, the serrated edge gleaming in the pale light of the electric lantern hanging from the ceiling. His index finger then pushes Judy's head up, her throat exposed to the knife that now gently presses to it. " _Confess_ , John, or else your bed bunny chokes on her own blood!"

Panic jolts through Nick's entire system, sputtering words one after the other in an effort to placate Ross. "Okay! I admit it! I'm Carrion! I dumped the bodies in the swamp to feed the gators! I've been operating on the murders every night! I heard about the original Carrion and wanted to perfect his craft! It was me all along!" Nick finds his breath when Ross's grip loosens at the sudden realization that Nick has admitted to being a serial killer, a baleful justification for his mad crusade. "Take me in or whatever just… don't hurt her."

But Ross doesn't let go of her, and his claws begin to peek out of his fingers as he laughs. Nick's fear is locked away then, a sustained fury taking its place as he struggles to come up with something fast. Nick needs to grab his attention again, and does the first thing that comes to mind. He seeks to antagonize him, pull him out of his stupor long enough to focus on him and only him but the plan to do so, he feels, is so incredibly flawed, even as he speaks it. "I'm also the one that killed your wife!"

But then Ross's expression drops, and so does Judy who tucks and rolls as she falls out of his grip.

"Prison's too good for you," Ross mutters before barreling towards him!

Knife in hand, Ross swipes at Nick who backsteps away. Ross underhands the knife then, making a second swipe that Nick narrowly dodges.

Nick then lunges into his guard, shoulder checking Ross's chest, making the puma reel, but Ross is resilient and barely moves whilst Nick feels pain surge through his entire arm, his fatigue taking its toll on his body.

Judy takes this opportunity as an opening as she bolts towards Ross and leaps onto his shoulders, slinging her wrists over his head and at his neck. She tugs her bindings against Ross's adam's apple and his free hand quickly grasps onto the thick rope in an effort to retake air, but she responds by tugging back harder, pressing her heels into his back as she attempts to choke him into submission.

Ross's armed hand rises to stab at Judy but Nick quickly takes his arm and twists it, wrestling the knife out of his grasp. But Nick's grip is smothered in sweat, relying mostly on the constriction flexing in his forearms, but he finds relief in Ross's suddenly opened palm, dropping the knife.

Ross can feel the lack of oxygen dimming his senses, trapped in the grasp despite his strength, but he does not surrender to them. His hand releases the rope, giving Judy more access to his throat but the same hand curls upward to grab her by the ears.

With a single, easy tug, he pulls her off of him and slams her body against Nick's, sending them rolling along the floor.

Lying on his back, Nick finds a dazed Judy with her back on his chest. He knows Ross is coming in for a follow up so he attempts to twist his body to roll over but he never gets the chance.

Ross is upon them in the next instant, his knife plunging down towards them, but Judy raises her thick bindings to block it. To her horror, the knife pierces it, but it is thankfully locked within the rope.

Ross pushes the blade downward, the tip closing in on Judy's neck, forcing her to raise her wrists with all her strength just to keep the rope between them. But fear still runs through her body as it threatens to sap all her energy away in this desperate counter, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Nick doesn't stall as his senses alight, taking the blade firmly in his grasp, cupping the dull end to avoid the serrated edge. He knows they can't match his strength, so he goes for the next best thing. With a roll of his shoulders, he twists the blade aside and plunges it into the stone beside his head, turning both Nick and Judy to their sides with it.

Sporting more energy at the moment than her partner, Judy proceeds to kick Ross's side. The first strike furthers his imbalance, the second one winds him, and the third – with Nick lifting her rear so she can use both feet – knocks him back and off of them both and onto his back.

With the blade having cut through the bindings, Judy twists the stuck knife against the rope until her wrists are finally free.

Nick wastes no more time as he hurriedly scoops up Judy and bolts for the door. In the tunnel he settles her down as he lets her sprint at his side, both of them plunging into the darkness as they make their way towards the candle in the distance that sits beside the adjacent iron door.

Freedom feels just within their grasp giving them some hope, even as Ross roars at them from behind. But they don't expect the ferocity in his sprint, hearing him run on all fours, every footfall rippling loudly through the dark tunnel making him sound larger than he actually is.

But to their surprise, he doesn't charge into them.

Ross runs along the curved wall passed them, until he is almost diagonal, and they can _feel_ his speed, mettle in his limbs so fervent and vivid that it tells them that running away from him would likely be impossible in their current state.

Then Ross angles towards the large iron door, and Nick feels himself panic even more, summoning all his wit to perhaps stop him. But the idea never comes, and Judy, having tried the same, mimics Nick's sense of defeat as Ross propels himself off the wall and kicks the large iron door shut with his powerful legs.

Landing on his feet, Ross growls at them with murder cut through his furious, menacing gaze as the man disappears beneath the animalistic desire for heated, fervent retribution, the wraith taking full hold of him under the influence of his all-consuming madness.

* * *

Sam arrives at the foot of the forest just minutes before Nick sprinted into it, pulling out of her Pursuer before dashing to Tali and the Luciano leopard. She'd gotten a mysterious message earlier to come here as quick as she can.

_Come to the forest. It's urgent. They need you._

_They_ being the keyword. "Just who is this?"

Regardless, when she arrives, she doesn't expect any of what she sees.

There is a panic amidst all present as people hurriedly scramble together, waiting for the rest of the guide other than her own to be passed around, and she can see it in their anxious faces that something has gone wrong, and she doesn't like any of that.

"The fuck's going on?" Sam asks sternly, approaching Tali and the Luciano. She pivots her head, keen eyes peering through the crowd. "And where the fuck is Wilde?"

"He sprinted off into the forest," Tali tells her, still staring at her phone as she gathers the names to forward the message to. "He took the first guide with him minutes ago but at the speed he's going at, he's likely already halfway there."

Sam groans, exasperation fuming off of her twitching whiskers. "Please tell me he went with _somebody!_ "

Tali takes a moment to give her a sorry expression, and Sam can all but let her frustration be known. But more than that, Sam feels herself worry despite herself. Nick's going to die out there if he's facing against Ross, Judy too if she interferes, and for as long as she is capable of doing so, she most certainly will. Being clever will only take them so far, so Sam needs to get there to make sure they make it out alive.

"Where's the guide?" she asks.

"Here," the Luciano Leopard offers, his phone lighting up her face. She reads quickly, remembering every detail as closely as she can.

She then orients herself to the post before she, without warning, sprints into the forest.

They call out to her as she disappears into the thicket, but she ignores them all.

Evening shrouds the forest by the time she reaches the discarded iron boulder, and quickly she finds the splintered stone, dashing in its pointed direction.

She can hear the rush of water up ahead, giving her sign to slow down as she approaches. She takes a moment to look over Logan's Respite, the fabled river she sought out for all those years ago.

She pulls out her flashlight, not even bothering with her night vision anymore.

There is some shame lingering beneath her still, the idea that she'd been tasked to watch over them and now her neglect has ushered this.

She shakes her head. No, she's being too hard on herself. It wasn't like she was gonna sleep on their sofa. This would have happened regardless. Still, she can't shake the feeling that this is somehow her fault, however unfair that might be. But perhaps it is something else she feels.

She reaches the river then, the ever elusive Logan's Respite. It had all the tropes of a serial killer's hiding spot. It's secluded and shrouded in secrecy, with a river that runs beneath the surface and maybe even ends on the coast several miles east. It's a place where you could dump a body and never see it again.

She peeks over at the water, driven by some abject paranoia as she pulls her flashlight out to see into it. She half expects a corpse to come downstream, and she fears that looking away will make her miss it. A moment of terrifying silence passes against the flowing waters, eyes fixed to it with an intensity that only anticipates the worst.

Then something comes into view.

Sam nearly yelps when she sees the tomato can float about. She shakes her head. _This is stupid._

She runs down along the dampened shore grass, flashlight blaring through the darkness as she struggles to find the grave up ahead.

The world around her is nearly pitch black at this point, twilight having long since passed. Were it not for her night vision or even her flashlight, she'd be entirely unable to see. How any animal without these could creep through here would be anyone's guess, and Carrion doesn't operate with any impairment unless it benefits him. If Carrion used this place, maybe he has night vision too?

She shakes her head. She's here to get Nick backup not work on the case! It's not her priority right now.

Suddenly she finds the grave, the rifle pointing into the dirt. There is a sense of relief then. She's so much closer now and she can finally—

_Rustle._

She twists her head to the side, spotting someone in the high school's crow mascot costume standing at the other side of the river. His head tilts at her, as if to ask her why she's here.

"Hey!" she shouts, "what the fuck are you doing here kid? It's dangerous!"

The crow doesn't answer. Instead it seems to lower its head and she can see the hand leave the sleeve from within the costume.

Then she gets a text.

Suspicion, and some lingering anxiety comes with her hand reaching into her pocket. Quickly she finds her phone, and the message she reads comes from an unknown number.

_Samsara Stripes, is it? Or would you rather Samsara Bengall?_

Her eyes widen. She almost makes to reply to the message until she realizes that the crow across from her sent it. "How the fuck do you know my name!?"

Another message. _Wrong question._

She knows who it is. The height alongside the mockery plastered on its persona. The crow is acting in some twisted sense of irony wearing that damned suit too. And she curses him beneath her breath, but it's hidden beneath her panic.

Because in his presence, she is very much afraid. The unnamable beast given life, staring at her straight in the eyes. And she is doubtless that he can see the fear in her them, masked beneath her bravado.

And this fear tells her the right question to ask. "…why are you doing this?"

_Curiosity._

"For what?"

A moment that seems entirely too long passes between them. She holds her breath for the response. She nearly jumps when she gets it a minute later.

_I am, without a doubt, the one you've been looking for, the same demon that has haunted you after all these years, closer to you than I ever have before. But beneath us is the canal you ran out here to find, and the people you were tasked to protect are in grave danger._

_So it raises the question, Officer Bengall, where do you go from here?_

The answer is simple, really, and her feet almost immediately take her away from here and out towards the canal's entrance, but there is some hesitance in her still, one masked with fearful ambivalence.

Sam then realizes that Carrion sent her the message to come here urgently. He's the reason she's already here, knowing full well that she'd go off on her own after Nick.

And then her phone rings again.

_You know, I've recently found that indecision creates its own answer, because that which we first flock to is what is most true of us. It is instinctual and thus: to defy it, is to defy ourselves._

_You will always act as Samsara Bengall, and I will always act as Carrion. And in that way, we are all so quite predictable, aren't we?_

By the time she's done reading, he's already walked away. Though still in view, Sam finds comfort in his leaving, enough to find feeling in her legs again. And soon she bolts off, forcing her head away so she doesn't see him vanish into the dark.

She reaches the stairwell down into the canal's entrance, the old iron door already wide open for her. Light emanates from inside, and she cautiously makes her way down, a quickness to her step that stands between idle panic and an unshakable alertness.

And then she gets one final message.

Attached is a photo of Ross over Nick and Judy, his knife attempting to plunge into them but the blade itself is caught between Judy's bindings. It's a diagonal shot that looks like it came from a window near the ceiling or something.

_Hurry._

"Fuck!"

Sam quickly finds a stream of Christmas lights that she momentarily follows as it aligns with the path she remembers through this malignant maze. But much too quickly does it deviate from her own guide. She trusts her own instincts more than a mysterious guide, so she removes herself from the light trail then bolts off.

Her flashlight chases away the shadows, and she also pulls out her pistol, anticipating Ross. It isn't long until she finds the iron chain fence that leads towards the iron door.

Weapon at the ready, she slowly pushes open the door, but the old metal screeches, announcing her to the room behind it. "Aw, fuck it!" She hears Nick and Judy yelp as one of them is thrown at the other before she forces her way in, dashing into the lit room up ahead, the lantern on the ceiling swaying ominously over them.

They're alive at least, a string of hope that makes her rush in.

Before she exits the tunnel's mouth, she sees Nick and Judy against a pillar. Nick cracks an eye open as he winces in pain and spots her. "Sam! Look out!"

She doesn't have time to react when Ross comes out of the corner to give her a good straight punch to her cheek.

His right hand then coils into her arm as she reels, grabbing at her wrist to disarm her. But she orients herself quickly enough, growling as she intentionally drops her pistol to the floor.

With his back to her, she kicks the dropped weapon away then uses the length of her elbow to slam into Ross's spine, making him stumble forward.

Nick then tackles him into the wall with a suppressed grunt.

Judy follows up by leaping off Nick's angled back to then drop kick Ross's face into the wall.

Dazed from the blow, Ross nearly slumps to the floor.

Sam grabs his wrist to try and twist it to his back but he reacts quickly and uses her firm grip to his advantage. Ross jumps back, tugging Sam in after him but as she stumbles forward, he plants another punch on into her, sending her back.

Ross tries to kick at Nick but he catches his foot in his hands.

Judy runs along the wall to leap towards Ross once more but this time he blocks the kick.

Judy lands on the floor only to find Ross raising his other leg quickly to kick Nick in the face. Ross falls to his back but Nick is knocked down.

She runs up to Ross to fend him off, but he notices her too quickly and swipes his claws at her. She dodges the first swipe, then the second, but before he can swing a third, Sam tackles Ross into the ground.

"Stay down you crazy fuck!" she shouts as she tries to knock him out with a few punches but he blocks most of them.

Nick jumps into action, grabbing Ross's left arm and twisting it again, straightening it. He calls out to Judy and she immediately runs in, and drops onto Ross's elbow, breaking his arm.

His scream cuts into the large room, echoing off the walls as his vivid pain becomes apparent.

They aren't trying to kill him, just subdue him, but that scream, bellowed loud and filled with pain, ripples through Nick and Judy, the harsh reality of what they're doing to the man crashing into them like a freight train. And in that moment of fearful hesitation, Ross, with all the remaining strength in his body, _refutes defeat._

His right fist slams into Sam's chin, a second blow striking her bosom. Then he pushes himself up to head-butt her.

Nick tries to grab him but Ross lands a swift fist into his forehead.

Judy tries to jump onto his face but he catches her mid-air then slams her into the wall.

Regaining her composure Sam finds herself careening to the floor when Ross pushes her off of him, and she can feel pain along her spine. _Damn it,_ she inwardly groans.

Ross wastes no time going for Nick, but he runs off towards a pillar. With only one arm operational, Ross can't sprint on all fours, and so Nick can attempt to outpace him, but he's resilient, fighting through a black eye and spitting blood out of his mouth.

Nick circles the pillar as Ross gives chase.

He finds the monoblock chair from earlier and takes it.

When Ross rounds the pillar, the chair is flung towards him, but he bats it away.

He doesn't see Nick slide between his legs to stand behind him. He then runs up his arched back to slam a fist into his skull.

Nick ignores the pain lancing through his arm and proceeds to mount Ross's head. With a quick handstand, he gets a firm grip of his temples before pivoting down to knee Ross in the eye.

Nick releases him as he lands, watching Ross reel.

Ross cups his injured eye. He's stronger and faster, but they're clever and using their numbers. But he's tougher than them, can take all this pain, and right now Nick is alone, without the advantage of numbers.

Because Ross revels in his own major advantage, sending a vicious grin against his fanged teeth

Sam's footfalls announces her as she runs on all fours towards Ross.

He waits for her to near, only sparing a quick glance at the defensive Nick who prepares for Ross's next move.

Then Sam pounces, only to miss Ross entirely as he jumps over her and towards Nick.

Nick tries to block but Ross backhands him with his terrifying strength, throwing him into the air and slamming him into a wall.

Before Nick can drop to the floor, Ross grabs his throat as he presses him against the stonework. Nick claws feebly at the puma's hand in an attempt to save himself, but even with the scraping cuts along the surface of his digits, Ross doesn't let up.

Nick stares hard into the eyes of the possessed man, burning hatred, sadistic and livid against his bloodied teeth. And then his eyes shift to the downed Judy slumped against the wall. And all he can think about is whether or not she'll survive this ordeal if he dies right here, right now.

And so Nick accepts death, consciousness fading.

Then he gasps as he finds air.

Sam has slammed into Ross in a successful tackle but she finds it isn't any easier with Ross despite having one operational arm.

He struggles and tries to bite at her, snarling like a wild animal as he tries to break from her grasp, one hand against his able arm and the other trying cut off enough air to incapacitate him. But then Ross's broken arm slams into her temple, sending her to his side.

He mounts her then, his hand pressed strong against her throat, trying to choke her to death. She tries to retaliate, to remove his arm or to strike him, but there's an errant resolve in Ross's eyes, one that ignores every blow, takes every hit, and revels in pain knowing that he can return it with the intent to kill.

Nick, barely conscious and far too weak to run, tries to stumble to her aid, but they're too far away and he only has so much strength in him left. He tries to call out to Ross to get his attention but the man is clearly caught in his struggle with Sam, hearing nothing else.

Nick trips on a loose, elevated stone brick, slamming his already weakened frame against the damp stonework. Groaning and on the floor, Nick finds something glint in his vision… Ross's combat knife.

He knows that if Ross finds it, Sam dies, but if he doesn't do _something,_ she'll die anyway. Maybe they all will.

So he takes it and tosses it their way, before passing out.

Sam hears the clang of the knife and reaches for it in her periphery.

She takes it by the blade, then into the grip.

But in her blurry vision, covered in Ross's sweat dripping down at her, Sam can barely see.

She needs to survive. She can't let Ross win, she can't let him hurt Nick or Judy. So she takes the knife firm in her hand pouring all her energy into a decisive strike, aiming for his cheek to tear it open…

…only to find that she has instead plunged it into his temple.

Ross drops to her side with the force of her blow, his body going limp in an instant.

Her breath is bated when she finds him lying there, the fury possessing him no longer in his stagnant irises. As a corpse he appears more normal than he's ever been, and she pains for the innocent and pained man beneath this demon possessed.

She falls on her back as she hears footsteps echo from the tunnel behind them, likely the rest of the rescue team coming in much too late at this point. _They really were too slow, huh?_ And before she shuts her eyes to rest, she sees a figure on the other end of the river, standing by a distant pillar.

It tilts its head at her, its blank, plastic crow eyes delighting in her sacrifice, for choosing them over him, prepared to haunt her for another day.

* * *

Bronc Town's mortuary is a dark and gloomy place despite its decorative and ornate front. Its architecture molded to seem illustrious and welcoming for all clients, intended to make them feel like their dead is being sent off with some sense of the royal treatment, a worthy homage to the life lived and now lost.

But in the dark, the bold colors turn to black, and the curtains shroud any light inside. And then it just looks like a giant coffin.

Creed stands before it with a weight in his heart, harrowed by the events that have passed.

Ross is dead now, his successor, lost to the madness that has consumed this town. He fears that more will follow, that perhaps Tali will lose all her strength and lose her mind, or if Calvary might go insane knowing that Sam was so close to catching Carrion but abandoned that opportunity to stop Ross. Or neither of these things occur and something else equally crazy occurs in its stead.

All he knows is that this will only get worse if Carrion isn't stopped.

And then his heart aches when he remembers Liz, the quiet little protégé, scared and alone in what is likely her last moments… if they haven't already passed.

Nick and Judy meet him there at the sidewalk before the mortuary, side by side, hand in hand. Judy's wearing the shall she got from Sam again and Nick is looking much better with his black dress shirt that covers any bruising that may have remained on his arms.

"Sheriff Creed?" Nick calls.

He turns to the two of them. Despite their melee, they've come out of it without any permanent damage. Judy's injury against the back of her head are invisible whilst Nick's bruise against his forehead is only barely visible now, likely thanks to Judy's makeup.

"You two seem better," he comments, his snow white fur glowing in the even light.

"Mostly winded. It's been a long day," Judy sighs, trying not to show how much she wants to wince. "I'm mostly just surprised I haven't suffered any memory loss with all this head trauma."

"Personally, I'm aching in way too may places," Nick remarks, shrugging, "but it's only uncomfortable, not disabling."

"Good. Do take care of yourselves then," he cautions. "I'll admit, I've grown rather fond of you two. You remind me of a different pair I used to work very closely with and… well, I'd rather you two stay alive for this ordeal. Can't have you putting yourselves in any more danger."

Not that they're ever _not_ in danger, they don't say.

"Creed?" Judy asks. "Why did you call us out here?"

He doesn't regard them as he stares hard at the double doors of the morgue. He shakes his head, trying to force away the grave, burdensome thoughts plaguing him.

When the first kidnappings began all those years ago, Ross had asked to be cremated if he ever died, a promise Creed wants to keep while he himself is still kicking. But he had asked others to come and… well, he can't say he's surprised that no one is willing to join him.

But Nick and Judy aren't here for that.

"I don't blame anyone for not coming but…" he pauses, turning to face them for only a moment. "I assure you, Ross was a good man warped by dire circumstances."

Judy looks at Nick awkwardly. "Creed, we're not really—"

"I know you don't, but this isn't about that," he says quickly, his soft features now somber and grave. "Before this… fiasco, on the day Monty disappeared, Ross called me while I was still in Cordrose, a day before his wife was taken." He revels in the memory still, perhaps the last glimpse of sanity he felt off the man before Creed returned to town, finding him broken. "He posited a theory for me. I didn't think much of it at the time but… perhaps, if there's any truth to it, it might serve us well."

Nick and Judy aren't quite sure what to think of Ross's theories, knowing what he'd done. But they try to keep their minds open. After all, he was sane when he told Creed, right?

"No one in Bronc Town who has been here long enough can come to hate it. At least, not the ones who are old enough to have dug in their feet, having built a life here. Calvary Pride may have been a violent drunk, but he was a broken man who pulled himself out of the dark to save the place that raised him. Alexander Wolfgang looked at this place as a respite from his criminal life, a haven far enough away from Zootopia to forget his sins. And Kurt Bellows was born and raised here, and when his family was taken from him, he severed every criminal tie he had and surrendered every facet of his life to perchance grant them justice."

He looks at them, eyes softening against the pale moonlight. "And these were the three worst people here, and they loved this place, this town, and… perhaps, its people."

He looks at his hands, and sees the claws that once killed men. One of them dull so he could never use them for that again. "We've looked at Carrion as this… _demon,_ something mischievous and vile. But there's no one in town like that, not really. At least not anyone old enough to be Carrion."

"So in that moment, Ross believed that Carrion loved this town like the rest of us. But he's been corrupted by something, a _tragedy_ he suggested, one that has sullied a good soul."

Creed doesn't look at them as he starts walking back towards the morgue, shoulders slumped as the weight in his heart slows him down. "Take that however you must, but I do hope it helps."

They stare at Creed as he walks back into the mortuary, the double doors opening where he finds Tali and Javan, much to his surprise.

He smiles at them as they walk in.

And as the doors shut, Nick and Judy are left in the growing silence.

"He makes a good point," Judy says suddenly. "Liz and Reese believed that Carrion is someone people generally trust, someone who's old enough to love the town and, in turn, be loved by it. But if he was corrupted by something…"

"There are a lot of tragedies in this town but… it's broken everyone." Nick says, cradling his hand that cups his mouth contemplatively.

Calvary and An may have put up strong fronts but once Kayla died, they lost it. Tali was shaken by the loss of her friend, and it almost pushed her off the edge when Ross had died. Marshal Hector bore the death of his uncle and mother in his sleeve, enduring it so he could be strong enough to protect his father. And then comes the veritable plethora of others who have lost someone, some of them they haven't even met yet.

"There has to be someone in this town who's lost someone and has managed a strong front," he says.

"But who could that be?"

Nick's eyes turn skyward at the twinkling stars, flashing like stagnant fireflies burning in the ebony canvas above. Names and faces flash before him, each with a steady pain to them that has broken them inside somehow, and each one of them has attempted strength despite loss… many of them failing. And then the stars are blanketed in a pillar of smoke billowing off the mortuary's chimney, signifying the cremation of the corpse.

And then Nick's eyes widen, a sensation of horror and clarity sinking into his skin, pulsing into his veins as every cell in his brain alights, collecting the pieces of the puzzle and – with a moment of still breath – finds that the pieces all just fall into place. "The smoke…" he whispers, almost gasping.

Judy turns to him before tracing his sights into the ominous plume polluting the sky. And quickly she finds the same answer, coiling beneath her against the cold air, freezing her at the core. Time stops as the gears in her head spin faster and faster than they ever have before, as the picture becomes clear, almost burning tears in her eyes.

_The familiarity with the town, enough to know its people and to earn its trust._

_A degree of talent with a firearm to shoot a goat's arm with precision._

_Experience with boating, perhaps to cross dangerous river rapids._

_Strength to match any mammal even twice its size._

_An intellect to bring it all together._

_And a way to dispose of the bodies without a trace._

"Judy…" Nick gasps as he takes her hand, mouth agape at the smoke filling the night sky. In his eyes, the stars disappear, and the world turns pitch black, as the all-consuming revelation of Carrion's identity finally finds a name. And he is in disbelief, heart stopping, voice trapped in his lungs, suffocating under the idea.

Judy squeezes his hand as she fights the same sensations, inhaling a breath she summons strength from, but her hands start to sweat, and her body trembles with a broken racket that ripples through her still frame.

And in the next moment they are gone, driving out into town to face a demon.

But uncertainty coils into their veins, sheer disbelief already pulsing adrenaline through their systems as the idea that they might have found Carrion is all but disheartening, and all too frightening. Of course this is why it was always hard for anyone to pick out the right person, here in a town so kind, amongst welcome people, camaraderie in every corner, how could anyone here call each other a monster?

It's easier to blame the worst of the lot or an outsider. But of course it's someone they thought they could trust. Of course it's someone they're afraid of hurting. Of course it's someone they want to be wrong about.

But it's that same doubt he's kept himself hidden beneath after all these years. And so they must steel themselves and not let bias dictate them. Because if they're going to catch Carrion, they cannot be blinded by who he is or what he has done for them.

* * *

There is doubt still, beset with all the disbelief that clouds their sensibilities, lingering like the crows that stalk the town. But like the suddenly absent crows in this quiet little neighborhood, the doubt slowly fades away as they enter the property, gone with nary a stray feather. Because they discover that all it takes to find clarity against any of their reservations is to look at one name, one house, one life, then all the pieces fall into place.

The glistening cobblestone against the dew kissed grass at their feet is a semblance of a suburban life, as good a disguise as any, but is it really a disguise? Is it really, truly a mask he's wearing or does he simply live two lives independent of each other?

If Carrion loves the town, then why does he attack it?

Why here and not somewhere else? _Because it's easier to hide in plain sight with a familiar face rather than a stranger's._

Why locals and not outsiders? _Because it's easier to read people and garner their trust if you've known them for a while._

…But why kill at all?

Perhaps there is no reason. Maybe it's just in the killing, the mere act of taking a life is enough to satiate him but…

_The Natural Order of Things…_

There is reason, purpose. Carrion kills for a derelict philosophy, one that drove Alexander Wolfgang mad, and he didn't even have to touch him to do it.

The _why_ is the essence of this, it's what's caused this madness, the core of Carrion's curse. But even as they place a name to the demon in town, they realize that they still do not yet have any idea what Carrion believes in.

And they wonder if they even want to know. But time is of the essence here, cause Liz might still be alive. And if they're right about this one, then they could save her. But they can't divert resources, can't call on anyone who's already looking for her to back them up because they'll only waste time if they're wrong.

"Are you ready?" he asks her at the front porch, indecision as clear on him as it is on her.

"I don't think I was ever ready."

Nick admits that he isn't sure he ever was either. He'd come here thinking he'd find some malicious, generic villain with his own underground lair, but instead he finds himself standing at the front porch of a cozy suburban home that belongs to one of his newly acquired friends. Nick feels embittered by the idea, soured by what he can only describe as a sense of betrayal.

Judy knocks on the door, and almost immediately do they hear the loud clang of a metal oven lid slam shut before they hear him scrambling towards the door.

The door flies open and they are greeted by the gentle smile of Marcus Hector. "Nick? Judy? What're ya' doin' out here so late? You two should be restin'!"

"I-I'm sorry," Judy stammers, "have we caught you at a bad time?"

Marcus pauses, considering something for a moment before shaking his head. "No, no, not with you two. Please, do come in."

He ushers them inside and into his living room. "Do forgive me for the delay. I was bakin', you see, and I need to make sure the dough's settlin' alright. Would you two like anythin' while you're here, though?"

"No need, Marcus," Nick says, a little nervous himself as he gives Marcus a quick smile that he misses entirely as he walks out of the room.

They plop onto the sofa and cannot help but feel so incredibly guilty right now. He's being so polite and they are about to accuse him of mass murder! They don't know how they could possibly live with themselves if they end up being wrong, but it's better than being right and never trying.

It is with a firm resolve that they mentally prepare themselves for him.

Nick's hand steadies by the pistol on his side. He feels only a twinge of fear in him now, but that's only because a large part of him feels like it doesn't need to feel alert or in danger in Marcus's home. He'd found respite here after all when Judy was kidnapped and he can all but feel thankful that she's here with him now in the very same place.

Judy herself is more than a little uncomfortable. The shawl she's wearing ensures that her rifle remains hidden, but the prospect of needing to conceal a weapon in the presence of Marcus Hector of all people just feels… wrong. Made all the worse when Marcus walks back in with a pie in hand, placing it on the coffee table between them before sitting across them on his single-seat sofa. "Hope ya'll like apple cause… well I've been cookin' them all night and I swear I've run out of ingredients to bake anythin' else."

They thank him for it and dig in, but only after one bite does Nick feel his insides curl, needing to cut to the chase. "You know, Marcus, you've been relatively calm throughout this ordeal." He's the only one that hasn't gone insane, or perhaps hasn't even tasted that madness. Even Marshal had his little episode during the party last night. Marcus… he's been much the same the entire time, calm and collected even in moments most dire.

Strong taut fingers drop the fork he's been holding in his hand. "Well I suppose I _have_ kept up a rather stoic front now, have I?"

There is a tension in the air then, clear in his steady posture. _He isn't relaxed anymore._

"You have," Judy remarks. "I'm sure it's been quite the asset for your son."

"Oh, no," he laughs, his plump stomach rolling as he laughs. "That boy can take care of himself."

"Then do you do it for the people in this town?" Nick asks, catching Marcus's easy going attitude as it remains oblivious to the way they're speaking, making him suspicious.

"Folk 'ere are hardy, as you've come to see. They'll endure, they always have. I just do what I can to make the good times better. It comes with my business tagline: _Savory, delight you let last._ Because you _let_ a good thing stay with ya', it doesn't last unless you let it." There is something hidden behind Marcus's choice of words, Judy can _feel_ it, but she can't quite _see_ it. She notes how he doesn't directly answer their question.

"Did your wife come up with that?" Judy asks, her features softening just the tiniest bit.

"Might have been her last words," he smiles at them, nothing but fondness in his eyes. "I have no pains for what I've lost, if that's what you're askin'."

The town is heavy with loss, but even old Lutessa Avery holds pains at the memory of her late husband, wishing he was with her. Everyone else has gone completely nuts for their losses, even Marshal Hector seems on edge, if his display from last night's party is anything to go by.

"Look, Marcus," Judy says slowly, "we all know this isn't a social call."

Marcus looks a little distressed, but he's more confused looking than anything else. "Then what _is_ goin' on?"

Nick nearly hisses. Surely Marcus isn't this dense. It has to be an act, trying to feign innocence like this. _You're selling a character, I can see that, I've done that, fumbled like that on my first few tries. It isn't the real you, and you've slipped before you've even begun._ But unlike Nick who can get away with quick wit if his false identity doesn't work out, what Marcus is facing is cops out for an arrest.

"We've done a lot of research," Judy says, "and here's what we know for sure: Carrion is a marksman, is experienced with boating during harsh river rapids, he's an expert pianist, and is around five or six feet." The technical skill necessary for hacking is something they haven't been able to pin on him but that's hardly a concern when they can prove that later.

Marcus leans back, no longer speaking, eyes shifting between them as he seems to mull over something in his head. His eye is skeptical, but it's a front, buying himself time, but they keep going.

"We know you're experienced with a firearm," Nick starts, leaning forward in his seat. "There is no denying that you at least know how to use them, being the head of the Hunting Club, after all."

Barnaby and Clementine had also discovered just yesterday that Carrion didn't cut off Sigurd's arm. It wasn't discovered as easily before because they entrusted an amateur to it at first. The blood on the blade was splattered on by a paint gun, a masterful shot from what is a difficult distance. So if they manage to find a hint of bronze somewhere in the house, they could check it for blood.

"We saw your boat engine in the garage when we first came here," Judy continues, cupping her hands together, pulling up her strongest face. "So we at least know you're experienced in boating. At least more than your son."

"You already match the height," Nick tells him, gauging his reaction which, he discovers, is genuinely surprised at, "but more than that, your wife was a pianist who, as we understand, taught here in her own home. A talent she might have passed on, or at least shared, with you. But I don't see a piano for her to teach with. For a man who finds no bitter remembrance with his dead wife, it is quite strange that you'd remove it altogether."

Marcus remains silent still but there is a darkness in his eyes, but it isn't anger. Ambivalence, maybe, but more than that it's… almost stoic, a resolve in preparation to actualize.

"And then there's the more circumstantial evidence." Judy fixes him with a steely gaze of her own, but she knows all their evidence is circumstantial. They can't place him anywhere, but it's getting to him. They'll gun for a confession, get him to admit to it.

But there's something they can't quite shake. He should be smarter than this, know the law and how forensics work. He should have said something by now about it, could dispel their entire theory but… it's like he wants it.

"Your delivery truck has enough room to fit any person of any size," Nick says, "but we know you don't take them to the swamp to feed them to the gators. Not only would it not be clean, it'd also be incredibly suspicious that a bakery would deliver anything out there. Especially to Spruce Wamancht." Who, Nick realizes, is likely still missing. _He's dead too now, isn't he?_

"So we know you take them here," Judy says, the horror in her eyes, embittering her tongue, as she almost looks livid. "Now we don't know how hot that brick oven of yours can be. But we do know that smokestacks are only necessary if you're using something for the heat, beneath the cooking or in a fire place, but never for the actual baked goods."

"You cremate them," Nick tells him, "turn them to dust cause no one's ever gonna suspect a pile of ash is a person. You don't even leave any bones behind. And with that, the body vanishes."

Marcus's eyes widen just a bit, squinting at them as if he's in disbelief.

"You didn't even torture them, did you?" Judy continues. "Knocked them out every time because you didn't want to leave any signs of a struggle or leave any blood. Despite what happened to Mr. Kidd, you likely found that taking your victims that way was messy, imperfect, and far too cruel. You even panicked when you realized what you'd done. Even shot up the house just to leave yourself with a sense of security. Then you never did it like that again."

Nick shakes his head, matching the intensity in Marcus as he too leans in, his eyes searching for something in Nick. "It wasn't even the kill you wanted. We very much doubt you let them suffer, or even let them wake up before you killed them. It was all about inciting fear, creating a legend for yourself to revel in. Torture would be unnecessary. In the very least it would waste time."

Marcus leans back, cupping his mouth as something ebbs out of it. There is pain in his eyes for only a moment before it vanishes, the once pleasant veneer slipping off of him like a mask. Then his eyes alight, amusement most malign as he laughs, one that bubbles off his throat instead of his gut, no warm joy emanating off it, beset only by hysterics as he slaps his leg in his mirth, a vicious grin baring his teeth.

"I guess I was right all along," he says with a hint of laughter still in it, smiling all the way. "When ya'll walked into town, I knew it was only a matter of time before ya'll would catch me."

Their eyes widen at that. It's the confession they've been looking for and they can scarcely believe it's true. That man, Marcus Hector, is the name of the demon in town, the elusive Carrion Killer given flesh.

But they don't move to arrest him.

Marcus seems to grow in size, his imposing stature once kind and welcoming now twisting into something grim and malign as even the apparent strength in his arms – somehow more visible now than they were before – makes him look larger, more threatening.

And his laugh, it echoes still, filling the silence with his aura, his madness, locked away, released into the room like a miasma, stealing the oxygen out of the air as they find their hearts racing to fill their lungs.

"Y'know, most folk think Carrion is some unnamable monster, an entity they can pour their rage into but my son isn't so blind. He knows that Carrion is a person, a familiar face, and when the town finds out who I am, they'll go mad cause of it." He pauses as he laughs, the once brimming smile that brought comfort is now horrid and twisted as he tilts his head at them. "You know what they'll do. They'll tear me apart for what I did. And I'll laugh as they do it, spit back the blood that pools in my mouth. Cause I'm not afraid o' dyin'. They are, though. They're afraid of me, of death. A familiar face they'll tear apart. And when I'm in hell, this town's innocence will go with me. Hands stained with blood for all." He leans in, his almost demonic presence permeating off his wide, mad eyes. "This town loses whether I live or die."

Then the room is filled with the scent of the oven, its heat taken with its baked goods which are likely burnt at this point. "Ya' smell that? That allurin' sensation in the cracklin' o' fire."

"Liz!" Judy shouts but Marcus raises his hand to stop her.

"She ain't in there. In fact, you two got that part wrong." He laughs again, a weaker one where he shakes his head. "I guess I was expectin' too much when I thought ya'll would catch onto every little detail but I suppose that only happens on TV. But yes, I did, in fact, burn some of 'em, but only the parts that were infected." The way he's so casual about it sends chills down their spine, the man seems at ease with himself, as if he's taken off a mask, ripped off skin that is too tight, much too uncomfortable to really fit him. As if this is the man Marcus Hector truly is.

And then Judy catches onto something. "Infected?"

Nick feels like the answer is so obvious but he can't bring himself to figure it out for some reason, a part of him rejecting all logic just to never know, but he needs to know. "Then what did you do with the bodies, Marcus?"

Then Marcus laughs louder and fuller than he ever has before, his lungs pouring out of his wide lips. His belly rolls with his laughter, bobbing with his massive frame so hard that his fists clench as his arms rest hard onto his legs, the muscles beneath his fat tensing as he does so.

And then he stills himself, a grin ebbing off his cheek. There is a threatening silence to him, a calm that is menacing, terrifying, burning with the tempo of their hearts ill prepared for what he tells them.

"Ya' know that old sayin' that a pig'll eat anythin'?"

Then it all comes together.

The bodies vanished because there was nothing left of them, and that idea alone is menacing enough but the idea that he ate them, that he, Carrion has actually been _eating_ people. It calls to mind the victims, the people he had taken, turned to feed, mulched, grilled, or perhaps he ate them raw. Did he even have the courtesy to kill them first?

He is unafraid as well, confident in his ability to take down even the largest of targets, truer to the myths that gave him his name in this town, more a monster than a man.

They fear for their safety then, barely a few feet from the devil given form, grinning at them from across the room, standing as he knows they are powerless in his presence, reveling in the sheer terror in their eyes.

Nick and Judy stand, pulling out their weapons at him.

"Stop right there!" Judy shouts with all the confidence she can muster, but her arms are trembling and so are Nick's, eyes so wide in horror that Marcus can practically taste their fear.

He laughs again, that manic grin somehow plastered to his face now. "Ya'll don't scare me," he says slowly, punctuating his tone with his mania. "Neither o' ya have the gumption to pull those triggers."

Judy knows she can't, it isn't in her to fire and they certainly can't intimidate a man who doesn't fear death, much less them. But they need to stop him, cuff him somehow, but any plan she tries to form dies in her bated breath, panic and adrenaline boiling white hot, consuming her.

She looks to her partner in search for an answer, but she is horrified at what she finds.

Nick is a wreck, trembling far more than she is, because unlike her, he feels himself boil with some errant rage, but it isn't at Marcus. He is at war with himself, asking if this is the moment he does the one thing he thought he could never do. If he could really kill a man, pull the trigger and rob the life from those eyes.

But those eyes are menacing, challenging, demanding that he makes a choice. To choose just what kind of man he is. To pull the trigger, or die a coward.

"Nick?"

He turns to her for a moment, shifting between her and Marcus, hands sweating as he feels himself tug ever closer down that trigger. He can feel his breath rippling through his frame, in and out with every heartbeat that fills his ears with that steady thrum of noise.

The world is quiet then. Just him, the gun, and Marcus, daring him to take that plunge.

"Nick!"

He snaps out of it, the world finally coming back into place, but in that moment of clarity, the coffee table is flung into them, making them drop their weapons as they fall back into the couch.

Marcus presses a foot onto the table over them then proceeds to rip out one of its legs.

Judy, with her much smaller frame, slips from underneath the table. Breath still hitched, she unsteadily finds her balance before she jumps towards Marcus to kick him, but the pig sees her coming then punches her square in the chest mid-air with a backhand.

She lands in a skid across the floor. _That was his off-hand…_ and it hit like a truck. The pain she feels ripples out of her chest, pulsating as she swears she's already got another bruise in there.

Nick, who is struggling with the table, blocks Marcus's swing of the table's leg, but the pain lancing through his arms make him wince. The blow is powerful, and he's certain his arms won't survive another one.

Marcus then swings the bat once more towards the side of Nick's head. And he feebly tries to block it, his body trapped underneath the table trying to twist so his arms can absorb the impact, but it fails. The wooden leg slams through his arms, barely losing momentum as it collides with his head, dazing him.

Judy runs over to try and save him but Marcus notices her in an instant.

He steps down then shifts the weapon into his left hand. He swings at Judy, to which she only narrowly dodges, but she quickly learns that he'd been expecting that as his hoof pushes him forward, propelling himself towards her mid-dodge with speeds she thinks almost impossible for a man of his size.

Nick, finding purchase beneath the table, decides to throw it back at Marcus. The large man absorbs the impact as he only stammers.

Nick scrambles back to grab the vase off the side table before tossing it at Marcus. It shatters against his face, but the large man only winces.

His foot rises to step onto the table laying on its side. Then, with a frightening grin, proceeds to _split the table in two in a single stomp._

Nick then grabs the side table itself then tosses it at Marcus, but the pig only drops his weapon as weaves forward, ducking beneath the table before rising again to grab Nick's neck.

He chokes him as he lifts him into the air. Then he slams him into the floor.

Judy's world is nothing but pain now. In comparison to her fight with Ross, Marcus is far worse. He can read her actions and hit harder, and he can take any amount of punishment they can dish out on him. They can't beat him. Not like this, not with what they have.

She wishes she can find a solution but doesn't have time to think of one when she sees Nick being pressed against the floor under Marcus's sheer mass, the girth of his arms trapping his throat.

Judy scrambles towards them and picks up Marcus's discarded weapon.

She doesn't dare to approach as she, instead, tosses the wooden leg at Marcus's back.

The blow barely hurts but it catches his attention. He then lets go of Nick's neck before socking him square in the temple.

Nick feigns being knocked out as his body goes limp, Marcus's weight leaving him as he gets off.

Judy runs off to escape but she quickly finds her rifle against the wall. She picks it up and turns to face Marcus but he's already upon her, grabbing the weapon by the nozzle then ripping it from her grasp, his other hand following to grab her neck in one swift motion.

He then presses her to the floor, his lower body basically crushing her legs as she screams in pain.

"I wonder what raw bunny tastes like," Marcus laughs as fear ebbs into her dilated pupils. She panics as she struggles, Marcus grasping at her neck.

Nick forces himself up, ignoring the pain all across his body, a hand cupping his bleeding head. Eyes looking over the sofa, he sees Judy across the room with Marcus on top of her.

He almost makes to run but he finds his discarded pistol on the floor. He takes it quickly then aims at them, but the trigger is still hard to pull, his body refusing to give in to the weapon, his hands still shaking on top of his still blurred vision.

Judy fights off Marcus but to no avail, her vision fading as he chokes her to death. But she manages to pull up her aching legs from beneath him to then kick him in the stomach, but his fats absorb the blow, but it's enough to make him reel for a moment. This gives her an instance of breath that is stifled in a gasp when a shot rings through the air, piercing Marcus across the back.

Nick then tackles the man off of her mounting the dazed, bleeding pig beneath him.

Nick, in this moment, knows only fury, rattling his body as he clenches his teeth, a vivid passion to end the serial killer for daring to threaten Judy's life. Nick saw the terror in Judy's eyes when he mounted her, and now all he can think to do is to make him feel that fear.

He shoves the pistol into Marcus's mouth, finger twitching on the trigger, threatening to blow his brains out.

The pig looks up at him suddenly terrified. Perhaps he truly does fear death, or maybe something else, but all Nick cares about is that he feels it, the weapon against his tongue, pressing into the center of his skull.

But Judy crawls to him, a hand tugging at his pant leg. Nick turns to her and sees the fear in her, shading her lavender irises in a dark grey. And it isn't for Marcus, because she's afraid of him, afraid that he'll do something he'll regret.

And so it is with all of Nick's strength that he calms his quaking heart that threatens to burst out of his chest, pouring out his anger in a harried scream as he pulls out the weapon then slams it square into Marcus's forehead with enough strength to knock him out.

Nick collapses onto the adjacent wall, resting every inch of his aching frame as his heart slowly settles in the silence of the room, tossing his weapon aside.

Judy crawls towards him, her aching legs apparent, then he pulls her in, resting her against his chest, cradling her in his arms where he knows she's safe.

Then the silence is pierced by the sound of oncoming sirens blasting through the air, the red and blue lights pouring through the windows like a lighthouse through the fog, the end of a journey long awaited, solace in her warmth and her in his.

* * *

Terence walks out of his station wagon and watches the bakery blur behind the twisting red and blue lights of the sirens disrupting his vision and muting the air beneath it. His steps are slow, deliberately so, with no intention of getting in there fast, as he's not even sure he wants to be here. But the mystery is over, the case solved, for what he can gather, but to think it would end like this.

Savory is a haven for the people in this town, a family friendly place where you're greeted by friendly faces and made to feel at home with its resident bakers who listen to you, laugh with you, pain with you, struggle with you. They break bread and love you like one of their own, cause they know everyone needs a place to call home.

Once it had been a great place of inimitable solace… but it is now a haunting place where the young Marshal Hector must live alone, name perhaps sullied by what is likely locked inside.

He pushes passed the door just as deputies rush in, their rancor filling the spaces where once there was immutable silence, and even then the air still seems stagnant, ebbing off bile and deceit in every corner as the hideaway for a monster beneath this tranquil, decorative home.

Terence is shocked when he sees Marcus Hector on the floor, unconscious.

And for an instance there is pity still, yet it is all but dispelled when he sees Nick and Judy leaning against the wall together, beaten and aching, and on the phone with someone, a call that quickly ends. Immediately he is on their side, kneeling next to them as he inspects their bruises.

"You two alright?" he asks, unable to hide his apprehension.

"Fine and dandy, Terence," Nick remarks, laughing with his breath hitched, chest heaving beneath Judy's head.

"Terence," Judy says, as she crawls up Nick's shoulders to raise her neck. Terence only then realizes that her legs have gone limp. Perhaps they are in incredible pain if they aren't completely broken. "Check the basement," she says desperately, coughing painfully, "for Liz."

Without hesitation, Terence turns around and runs out of the living room. He briefly sees the bakery through the doorway on his left and smells the hardy scent of burnt pies. Savory might not survive this ordeal, the bakery will likely go out of business.

He enters the next room where he finds a staircase that leads up to the bedrooms. He considers going up there for evidence but he shakes his head.

"Hey!" Terence turns to the sound of his partner, Suther Reese. The armadillo scrambles to his side, a determined look to him. "Don't go in alone," he warns.

Terence nods to his old friend and pats him in the back.

Over to the side of the staircase is the door to the basement, and they are surprised to find that it is not locked. "Kind of counter intuitive, don't you think?" Terence remarks.

"Locked doors are mysterious. They raise questions. So it might be better not to when you got the town's trust. It's ballsy but…"

"Not unlike the MO," Terence agrees.

The flight of stairs below them plunges into darkness so Terence feels for a light switch, and when he finds it, he discovers that the basement is incredibly well lit.

It's also unlike anything he expected.

The floor and walls are tiled, the space clean, pristine even, polished to the point of a pale glow against the light. The edges of the room are also lined with drains that box up the area. Then there's the grill propped against the wall and, just above it and up against the wall, is a set of exhaust fans that funnel into a vent. Terence traces the vent and sees it bend into the wall, just below the basement ceiling.

"That's in the direction of the brick oven…"

"Kaenid, over here!" Reese calls for him as he pushes into some plastic blinds into what looks like another room.

They enter to find a similarly tiled room with the same kind of drains beneath. But unlike the other room, the center of this is covered in more plastic blinds that stand still in the stagnant air.

Peering into it they find some metallic tables with wheels on them, one of them with a tiny brown mound on top of it. Reese quickly realizes what it is and rushes over to it.

They find Liz strapped to a table with a medical respirator over her mouth and an anesthetic tank. Various respirator sizes are hung on the tank itself, one large enough even for an elephant, and quite a few of them in the smallest sizes. _Enough for a gerbil family._

Reese quickly jumps onto a metallic chair beside her and undoes her straps. Terence does the same on the other side, ripping them out with his claws. Respirator removed, Reese picks her up. "I gotta get her out of here."

Terence nods as the armadillo runs off. But Terence doesn't leave, thinking there's more.

His eyes squint against the plastic blinds and finds something glinting passed it.

His hands breach the blinds as he pulls them apart, and he finds some metal hanging off the walls but he doesn't quite know what it is in the dark. But then his night vision kicks and he sees it.

Bone saws and cleavers, various woodcutter saws and similarly long blades, all polished and gleaming, menacing and horrid things that bring horrifying images to Terence's mind. And there, precariously perched along a thin table, is a hunk of bronze with an edged side, carved to act as a blade.

Terence has been having doubts about what happened here, but this all but confirms it. And it horrifies him.

A more stoic man would have bagged the bronze chunk, but instead he stumbles back, hand clutching his mouth as he holds in a disgusted hurl. Then his back slams into the table behind him, its wheels whirring against the floor. He turns around when he hears some metal clang suddenly, and finds that the table has latches on all sides.

Because of course a table for one little otter isn't big enough for an elephant too. So the tables are meant to be attached to fit all animal sizes when necessary.

And then he vomits into the drain at the thought, bile hanging off his lip as he stares into the filth below, imagining all the displaced gore that goes in there.

Then he runs out of the room, up the stairs and out the front door in a mad dash.

He collapses onto the grass outside whilst Tali jogs towards him. "Terence? What's wrong?"

"I-" he holds back another hurl, shaking his head from of the images.

Then the front door opens, and his eyes turn baleful at the pig walking out.

Marcus is ushered out of his own home as curious townsfolk watch him from behind police lines. There are whispers here, poisoning the air with fear and hatred, shaded with anguish and doubt.

The two deputies at Marcus's side feel anger rippling through them as well as they watch the old pig they had come to trust turn into a demon in their minds, weakened and dazed, cuffed and vulnerable. But they forget how dangerous he is.

Then Calvary Pride storms through the crowd, the once stoic man now blinded by a sense of retribution. "Marcus, you bastard! I'll kill you!"

No one stops the lion from charging passed the line and towards Marcus who is quickly tossed in his direction by the deputies.

They want to see him suffer, but Marcus is no less dangerous now than he has ever been.

There is a collective gasp from the crowd when Marcus ducks under Calvary's fist then lurches his head into his stomach. Then Marcus lifts him over his body and over his shoulder with his head alone, Calvary falling onto the pavement in a dull thud.

"You're weak, Pride. Weak! That's why she's dead! Because ya' couldn't protect her," Marcus hisses at the downed man.

The two deputies try to apprehend him but Marcus shoulder checks one, making him wince before falling on his rear, then shoulder tackles the other to skid along the floor.

The crowd is then afraid, their baleful whispers going still for a moment.

The other deputies and even Officer Lupin who came ahead of the rest of the ZPD are all hesitant to apprehend him.

But then Denzel Creed emerges from the crowd, grabbing the cuffs behind Marcus to tug him back.

Marcus looks over his shoulder to see the old polar bear, the only man strong enough to match him. Marcus doesn't fight him, knowing that it would only be bloody and pointless.

So Creed takes him into his station wagon, seating him in the back.

In that instance, Marshal Hector jogs towards the crowd, seeing his father locked in that car. He asks what's going on and the people around him give him only solemn looks as he tears up at the sight. It's then that Marshal looks at his father with a terror in his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

Creed then drives off, far away from them as his son falls to his knees, watching the car vanish into a corner.

"So it was you?" Creed asks, looking at Marcus in the rearview mirror.

"'Fraid so, old friend."

"But why?" Creed finds no anger left in him, still unsure about how to process all of this. He can't find any reasons, because this is out of left field that he's pretty sure he's still in shock.

"It's the natural order o' things, Creed."

Creed stops the car on an empty street, frustration coiling through his system as he looks back at him. "What does that even mean?"

Marcus shakes his head, the thought of crackling fire and an old memory lingering fresh in his mind. "It's best that you don't know."

Creed gives it a minute before driving off again, heading towards the station.

" _Take him to the ZPD,_ "Nick and Judy had told him over the phone on his way here. " _Only worse things will come of this town having him in their custody._ "

" _It's the only way he doesn't win._ "

Creed understands of course, and he too does not feel that all-consuming fury for Marcus. Despite it all, he was still a genuine friend, and to toss him to the people in Bronc Town will only fan the flames. The ZPD will give the dead their justice without having to resort to devolving this town into a populace of sadistic killers out for revenge.

"Do me a favor and don't tell my son what I did," Marcus says, looking at the window as the town he loves whisks by, soon to vanish from him entirely.

"I'm sure he already knows, Marcus."

"No, he doesn't, and neither do you." Creed stares at Marcus off the mirror, confused. "Soon you'll find out what I did, and how I took care o' the bodies. And then you'll know what I mean…"

"My son is never to know. It'll do more harm than good, I assure you."

Creed silently obliges him, fearful of what he'll soon discover. But he blocks it out, focusing on the road.

But some semblance of relief comes to him as he watches the neon lights of the town, iridescent and burning in the pale moonlight, he wonders if it's finally over. If Carrion's curse might finally be lifted.

* * *

Morning comes like the end of a nightmare as Nick and Judy drive out on that long stretch of road, watching the forest that hugs the town turn into the lush valleys of the countryside that span miles and miles across.

Judy is in the passenger seat, unable to drive with her barely functional legs, hiding in her shawl as she rolls the semi-precious stones of her new bracelet that are strung together and modeled like planets. It is a gift from Liz Waterdale, a match pair to Nick's. Luckily, the little otter is unharmed and does not even remember the ordeal.

_Best to leave it at that._

They barely stuck around town though, having left when they bid their goodbyes. Case finally closed, they welcomed all their friends to visit Zootopia. But they didn't tell them that they'd never come back to Bronc Town, not after all this.

But they did stay long enough to give Calvary the letter Kayla left for him at the hotel room.

Whatever words were on there had quelled the fire in his heart, his hatred drowned in his tears at the memory of the little otter girl.

When Nick and Judy pass Old Henry, that solemn old tank, the wind whips through the grass about it, as if saluting them.

Nick, with the aches in his body ignored by the desperate need to get the hell out of town, rolls his shoulders as he looks out at the countryside.

It's beautiful, all of it, the lush valleys, daffodils dancing in the wind, the morning sun carving shapes against the passing clouds overhead. It's all so tranquil, so serene, but it's poisoned, a sight corrupted by a killer's curse that lingers still, his icy finger lurching out to touch them, telling them that they'd never forget this place or what it's done to them.

Judy sighs as she finds some baleful comfort in the rifle pressing against her back, and Nick finds some errant sense of security with the pistol holstered at his hip. Both reminders that they are leaving this town scarred, the graver facets of their profession coming to light.

And the world seems darker then, even as the town turns into a speck. Because this case is burned into their skulls, branded by a demon who, in his own way, has won, immortalized in their memories as his manic eyes threaten to reappear in their nightmares.

But then Nick stops the car, on a mountain that overlooks Zootopia, and he crawls over to her. She lets him into her shawl as she holds him close, her tears against his chest as Nick shuts his eyes, trying to lock away the torment that, perhaps, will never leave them.

**~o~~~o~**

_It felt unnatural in a way, unfinished even. And of course we were right but we didn't want to believe it. And after what we'd been through, who could blame us for wanting to leave it at that? But… of course it wasn't over. We were fools to think that it was all over in one night… to think that we were finally safe._

_-Judy Hopps_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone jumps to any conclusions, no this is not done yet XD We still actually have two more chapters to go but even THEN it won't be over. Cause we still have the trivia then the epilogue just after that! XD We're almost done folks. Hold on to your hats! We'll see ya'll next month. :)


	20. Ghosts of Yesteryear (pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, folks. We've been busy graduating, building a house, recovering from being sick, etc etc.
> 
> Still, it's nice to get back. It'll take a little while longer to actually FINISH the chapter, but we're almost there. There's still the final chapter, the trivia, and then finally, the epilogue. Hopefully we can end it all by the American Summer, which is apparently when we began last year. XD

**Chapter 7 – Ghosts of Yesteryear**

_Bronc Town…? Well it's a fine place. Lush valleys, great food, wonderful people, and the air is clean for the most part. It's a haven in the south, but most of all… it's home. And I'll remember it fondly, each and every day. I may not see it again lest I meet the grave, but for as long as I'm buried at home next to my wife, I'll live happy knowin' my road ends with her…_ _**and that town.** _

_~Marcus Hector, a recording of his conversation with an unknown party inside the Zootopian State Penitentiary_

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

Across the great old valleys in the south, the silence of the countryside is disturbed by a great roving mass of steel, a tank and its great engine roaring through the air to the tune of Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries playing off an excitable old radio taped haphazardly somewhere inside.

The hatch off the tank's top opens and out comes a badger, a soldier coming home from war with his ragged fur whipping in the wind around his pale, sleepy eyes that watch the horizon reverently. His name is Henry Avery and for the first time in months, the air he smells is of dew and heated grass, a contrast to the familiar scent of gunpowder and fresh cinders, of memories he prays will fade in time.

It feels like he's in a distant dream, aloft in some erstwhile slumber, entirely expecting to wake up to a warzone again, but he opens his eyes and the valleys remain. But more than that, the great forest up ahead catches his attention gleefully.

And he laughs at the sight, an elation he has long thought lost to him finally returning, pouring strength into his aching bones as he lets it sink in where he can feel it heal him. And suddenly he is weightless, as if he sheds the ghost of his war-torn self, left behind in the trenches across the seas in a country he'd much rather forget. And now he is reborn in this valley, signaled by his laughter with enough overwhelming rancor that perhaps the Valkyries carried in Wagner's song join him.

He sees the entrance of the forest in the distance, a sense of relief overcoming him, filling his lungs with a great breath of air. "Almost home," he sighs thankfully, another laugh bubbling off his lips.

And then, suddenly, his engine sputters and almost dies, slowing to a crawl as he drops back inside to get on the controls, swerving it into the grass beside the road.

"Shoulda known," he sighs, though he is neither surprised nor actually disappointed. Since he'd ridden the thing across the country, he actually expected it to break down much sooner. But it's gotten him close to home so he's more than happy he's made it this far.

Still, he's a ways away from town so going on foot isn't going to cut it right now. And yet he prepares to do it anyway, sitting at the rim of the hatch, slipping his hot, sweat-drenched fatigues off his shoulders, letting the wind cool his bare, taut arms.

Then, a shiny two-seater car that he doesn't recognize pulls up to the side of the road.

The window rolls down as a pig pokes his head out. "Mr. Avery?" asks a young Marcus Hector. "Yer back early! I thought you were comin' in next week."

"Got impatient." He laughs. They wanted to transport us over the coming weeks and I thought I'd kept my woman waiting long enough." Then the badger gets an idea, eyes alight. "Say, you wouldn't mind taking a war vet home, would ya'?"

"Aw, shucks, Mr. Avery," the pig responds apologetically, "I would but… I've myself some company." Marcus leans back, letting another pig, a woman with a brunette tuft on her head, come into view as she waves up at the badger, almost as apologetic as her partner.

"Glad yer back with us, Uncle Henry," Karvina Milrose greets from her seat, smiling brightly at him.

"Always a pleasure, Kara," Henry responds, slipping off the tank to approach the window, eying the rear of the car but finds it tinted. "What about the trunk there, boy?" he asks Marcus.

"If yer comfortable with a ton o' bricks and hunks o' metal, then be my guest," Marcus jokes before giving the badger a sad smile that quickly drops with a sigh. "Sorry, Mr. Avery, there ain't any room in here."

Henry sighs but again he isn't disappointed, smiling through it still. "Then could you two do me a favor?"

"Whatever ya' need," Marcus says, relieved.

"Do tell my wife I'm here. I was planning on walking through my own front door but," — he looks back at the empty tank, the once loud and clattering monstrosity now silent and solemn like an old beast laid to rest — "I'm a little stranded. Still, her knowing I'm here is surprise enough, I suppose."

"We won't let you down," Karvina announces with a salute, beaming.

Henry thanks them, laughing heartily.

He leans into the window, eying their fresh faces with some nostalgia, relishing in their youth that ebbs off their chubby, rose-tinted cheeks. "Now you drive safe, Marcus. Get your girlfriend over there home to her family in one piece."

Kara coughs, "Um… fiancée, actually."

Henry blinks at them. "At such a young age?" It isn't like he's against the idea, but marriage is a commitment and… well they have been dating for a while already. If there has ever been a pair more certain about their future together, it would be these two.

"It isn't the strangest thing that's happened lately," Marcus offers. "If ya' haven't heard, the interspecies movement just got marriage between them approved across the country!"

Henry presses his fists to his hips, his cheeks tugging further upward. Looks like the world just keeps changing for the better since the end of the war. "Well I'll be damned, guess Idella gets to become a Mellivora after all."

"Aw, Uncle Henry, they're getting' married in a month. I'm sure your wife got the invitation. We'd be pleased to meet ya there."

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

_I drove straight home in that tank because I grew impatient with that bitter feeling in my gut left to me by that daunting, ever-present impedimental mountain that was war. In contrast, coming home to the familiar scent of sweet country air was an inviting relief. Soon enough, those days knee-deep in mud down in those trenches became nothing but bad dreams, nightmares I'd awaken from, gasping as I sat up in the quiet comfort of home, relaxed suddenly by the loving presence of my wife and daughters._

_~Lt. Henry Avery, overheard by his eldest daughter when they were visited by the Hectors_

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

"Marcus," Henry says slowly as he lays lazily on his tank, head twisting to meet the eyes of the man in question, "when I told you to tell my wife I was here, I really meant just _her_. You didn't need to bring the whole town too."

"I don't know, Mr. Avery, I think it's quite fittin' that we bring in the town to celebrate. An end o' the war celebration." Marcus remarks with youthful glee. Though Henry could scarcely disagree, what with the mouthful of pie he's getting fed to by his wife, and the form-fitting civilian attire he's wearing, a far cry from the familiar yet discarded military fatigues hanging off the tank's gun.

Though it isn't actually the entire town, there is enough of them here to at least warrant the suggestion. The rancor and all that life brimming off the townsfolk is a refreshing sight, one that welcomes him back, literally and figuratively.

He meets old friends he thought he'd never see again, thankful that much of them have stayed the same. From every brimming feature down to their quirky little nuances, Bronc Town seems to have stagnated to some degree since his departure. They also seem so much younger, but perhaps that is only because his bones feel so old now, trapped beneath burdened skin – scarred, scorched and bruised – where theirs have remained much the same.

In fact, he almost feels like a stranger amongst them, but that is a notion he believes will fade in time. But Henry Avery is changed, and it is a contrast that runs deeper than his scars.

Perhaps it is strange to eye his old friends with scrutiny, even if only inwardly, but he can't help it anymore. After what feels like a lifetime in the trenches, he's emerged as a paranoid neurotic. Though still socially able, he certainly doesn't feel like it.

The Whitewoods are a family of otters who essentially lead much of the suburban social circles. Their rivals as the center of Stable Village are the Rivers, another family of otters. They compete in garnering the society's social high with lavish parties and superior decorations on the holidays. It's a race to them, a competition that consumes much of their prudish, domestic lives here.

But to him, their quarrels and contests are all petty and meaningless. But there was once a time when he merely accepted it as part of being what life in a modern town was like. Today he feels no such things, and even actively grinds his teeth just to brush away the irritation twitching his brow.

"We're trying to get the Rivers to marry off our children together," Ronald Whitewood tells him as he sips a watered down beer.

"Well aren't you two ambitious?" Henry responds. It comes out smoother than he anticipates, perhaps the old him still shining through, but it feels like a façade, one he's sure might shatter the minute one of them utters something truly useless.

"Hey!" calls Jackson Rivers, stomping towards them with a heated glare for Ronald, "we're supposed to keep all that hush-hush. What if our wives hear?"

Henry pays them little mind after that, groaning to himself as they descend into a whispered argument that their wives quickly break up, none the wiser of their schemes.

Perhaps it is shallow of them to presuppose their children's futures for a pointless social hierarchy in a small town far away from everywhere else, but they're only parents who want the best possible future for their individual child. And though he'd never do something like that himself, Henry is not a man who outwardly judges if he ever attempts to judge at all, and so he keeps silent.

Then Henry meets a distinct perversion to his senses, the incongruent baritones of the Maui's, a family of rhinos who, despite being a rather close-knit family, are incredibly competitive with each other. Each one competes with more flare to their song, sometimes with instruments, and though it is largely nothing worth paying too much attention to, the Maui's have essentially devoured all sound in the area.

The crowd around them takes it with glee, perhaps one of the few truly exciting things here in town – not that Henry would ever call it that – but the fact that their tones don't actually match, turns the collective song into noise.

He looks away in an attempt to ignore them, but then he is quickly greeted by the littlest Maui himself: Javan. The rhino child tilts his head up at him, and then looks at his family, then back to Henry.

Henry blinks at the child as he suddenly covers his ears and shakes his head.

In his amusement, Henry then picks him up and then puts him on his lap. Henry's sentiments feel alien here, but the idea that a child, one that can barely even speak, shares the same notions for his own family is incredibly consoling.

Then his mother scampers towards them, the twenty-one year old Jahla Maui, out of school and pregnant too soon, she is a woman who is so distinct from her family that she is almost like the black sheep. Unlike them she prefers the field and not the stage, would rather keep to herself than draw attention to herself, who favors art over song. All of it a testament to her individuality, self-defined rather than by her family. And that is why Henry is adamant in making her feel comfortable, unwilling to let her see the critical glares that come their way, keeping her distracted with talk of her son.

Then the hum of a refined engine fills the air, muting the sky for a moment before it quiets. Henry eyes the Austin Terrier that pulls up beside the tank, distinct in its polished frame that refracts brightly even in the dying light of the setting sun.

Out of it comes the Prides', the veritable "silver spoon" lions of the town. Despite having been locals for years, they're still very much strangers to its residents. They keep crisscrossing between Zootopia and Bronc Town that it's a wonder if they have permanent homes in either anymore, which saddens Henry but not for any social reason.

In their arms is the little lion cub: Calvary Pride, and the tiny thing, he fears, might never know a real home.

Ultimately, they live and breathe city life, evident in their designer apparel and clear-as-day make up. And to anyone else, they might have seemed snobbish, but they're really quite friendly as far as city folk go.

One of them, the father, walks up to Henry and gives him a surprisingly firm handshake. "Glad to have ya' back, Henry."

"Glad to be back, Ronald."

Henry's smile is almost insincere, because Ronald never went to war, and is thusly a coward in his eyes. But he pushes away these bitter feelings, considering that he is perhaps only envious of the man who never had to see what he had to.

Lutessa Avery sees the quiet discomfort in her husband. And so, with a knowing and quick wink, she presses herself into the conversation, drawing the attention away from Henry. She then leads Ronald towards the crowd to rejoin his own wife, looking over her shoulder to flash a smile at him.

The badger soldier quickly excuses himself from the crowd, thankful for the moment of solace his wife has given him. He leans on his back at the rear of his tank, eying the sky that turns to twilight, the closest stars peering out from the ether.

And he wonders if he'll every truly adjust to urban life again. But that is a question he'll have to answer in time, no sense in forcing the issue now.

He sits up, weary eyes drifting across the rapturous crowd seated around a bonfire in the middle of a dirt clearing.

Then, he quietly slips into his tank and pulls out a helmet that isn't his own. An ID tag is wrapped around it, glimmering in the somber light. A bayonet glimmers at the corner of his eye, an old friend's M1 Garand attached to it. He pulls them all out as he sits at the rim of the hatch.

He sets the items before him as he looks down at the old solemn steel that has kept him alive and laughs at himself as he realizes that the turret is facing the rear somehow. He pats the rough, withered surface of the machine, thankful for its grit and its sacrifice.

Then he puts on his late comrades helmet and leans back again to watch the stars fill the sky.

" _Watch the front, old man. I'm taking this soldier home._ "

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

_I never expected to love the Broncs as much as I did. When Ross and I agreed to separate for a time, I was wary about finding someone else… But then I did. And then I discovered that love is not dictated by destiny, it's something you make happen. And home is not where you're born, it's where you're most comfortable... Family, home, love, all of these things: you choose and make happen. That's why I felt like I was missing something back in Orca and why a small part of myself was missing while I was there… I knew then that I needed Ross_ _**and** _ _the Broncs. That's why I came back. That's why I chose him in the end. So I pray you forgive me for leaving your home to find my own…_

_~Elira Ferris, excerpts from her letter to her late mother on the anniversary of her death, written only a week before her wedding with Rostetler Rundi_

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

It is midday beside the Horace Memorial on a bench against the fountain where Tali, for the life of her, cannot fathom the joy Eli is feeling. The woman is positively gushing from her thin, fragile, almost glass-like frame, twisting and smothering herself in an attempt to quell the warmth bubbling from her center, fighting every urge to giggle and squeal like every other school girl from their year.

But her heart sings songs that everyone can hear, emanating happiness too pure to ignore, too vivid to _not_ draw attention to herself. But she can't help it, she really, honestly, can't.

And Tali wonders if at any point during the rapid-fire story she's telling, if she's inhaled a breath at all.

"…so when I finally say yes, he pumps his fist in the air — completely _shattering_ his cool-guy persona, by the way — but before I could even comment on it, I find out he'd triggered some fireworks and suddenly the sky lit up with so many colors that I swear I invented a few when I kissed him." Eli's sigh is long and thoughtful, carrying with it the last true vestiges of her erstwhile glee, pouring out of her overworked throat so she can inhale fresh air again after what seems like minutes of non-stop talking.

And then, suddenly, all the excitement has left her lungs and the young woman just barely out of eighteen defaults to her usual self with enough poise to make her appear older than she is, the glimmer in her eyes now lukewarm.

"Done?" Tali asks as she shuts her book, a little frustrated that she'd tried to read the same page eight different times whilst attempting to pay enough attention to her friend. Though none of that irk comes out, looking only at her friend with honest elation, happy for her

Eli chuckles. "Oh I sincerely hope so," she says with her lithe fingers gently against her chest, "because anymore gushing and my heart would have given out."

"Good. I didn't want to have to get you a respirator," Tali jokes, smiling at her. But there is a weight in her eyes, something heavy and deep seeded lingering beneath her quiet visage. And this ghost beneath her irises is not lost to Eli who, in a personal struggle of her own, tries to find the right words to say.

Instead she looks away, cursing herself for not noticing sooner. Pensive and uncertain, she glances quickly at Tali whose gaze is far away, listless, but her hands fidget, flexing much too tensely to be relaxed. Tali thinks she's being clever by softening her features, but Eli knows her tells and sees right through her.

Tali wishes to redirect the conversation but can't bring herself to do it. Perhaps it is the atmosphere, or the quiet summer breeze, where her dire thoughts act as its perversion, tasked to sully Eli's good spirits. So Tali remains silent, eyes elsewhere as she quells the aching in her chest.

Eli can't stand for it, unwilling to let it lie, so she forces herself to speak, clutching her eyes shut for a moment. She doesn't have the words, but she deigns to speak anyway, to bring attention to it even though she can't give her answers.

But then Eli is almost startled by a hand resting on her shoulder. She thinks it's Tali at first, until she opens her eyes to see the wide, bold paws. Then she's kissed on her other cheek, turning again to find the brimming visage of Calvary Pride.

He comes in dawned in his signature letterman jacket, a raven black "C" outlined with a bright yellow, telling of his quarterback status at school. He is tall and well formed, muscles snugly within his sleeves, and a meticulously cared for mane that frames his head like a portrait. Calvary is by every means, a beautiful man, but Tali is in no way attracted to his species.

Tali also thinks that the beautiful new girl dating the local quarterback is terribly cliché, but she is thankful that the two don't actually like showing off, letting her remain the little mayflower in the background around them instead of standing out as one of their posse or, worse, the pitiful third wheel.

The lion then sinks into the seat between them, greeting Tali with a head-butt, the pair laughing at the age-old greeting. Eli winces at the sight for a moment, because unlike them, a football player and captain of her wrestling team, she is quite fragile, and constantly forgets that everyone around her can actually take a hit.

Calvary catches it and gently taps his head to hers. "You dolt…" Eli whispers, pressing her forehead against him before quickly pulling away.

Calvary's gaze swivels to Tali who quickly smiles at them… but not before he notices the brief flash of a frown. On its own it would have been nothing, but she's not making eye contact too and she's nursing her left wrist, one of her signs that she's hiding something. And all too soon does he realize that she's uncomfortable. "You alright there, Mink?"

"Yeah, I am," she responds quickly, tilting her head at him. "Why are you asking?"

He deadpans at her, his smile faltering beneath the concern, a heavy green, in his eyes. "Ah' know yer tells, Ta'darie. Please don't play dumb…" He wants to sound frustrated but a part of him is dying at the sight, watching her smile, fake as it is, wither beneath the taciturn recluse of her distant gaze, staring at the floor as if her torments are found there.

"I've noticed too, Tal…" Eli adds as she leans into view, startling Tali, Onlookers then take notice of their sullen gazes, and now Tali feels more cornered than ever. She wilts and hugs her knees, voice dying beneath the eyes that multiply in her head.

Then a hand finds hers, pulling her from her seat to stand, meeting Eli's eyes finally as she flashes her a comforting smile before leading her away. Calvary then takes her other hand and gives her the same smile with a wink. Then he tugs her once to join them shoulder-to-shoulder, and now Tali feels like they're acting as walls around her, sheltering her from the stray, intermittent glances of the locals.

It is not long until they get into Eli's car where she sinks into the backseat with Calvary. The puma drives them away as Tali finds her heart opening in their warmth in the short drive. She cries in the backseat in Calvary's arms, her gut twisting openly in the safety of their presence.

The world is quieter then, the rancor of some erstwhile despair, sullying a once wonderful night, now haunting her with some lingering consternation, eating away at her as she dissolves her strength, clutching her belly.

Then they reach Calvary's home in Stable Village, and she is brought into his room where they sit on his bed, holding her close until she is ready to speak. There is a long silence then, permeating through the room to mute Tali's senses.

"You remember Max?" Tali asks.

"The druggie?" Calvary can't stop himself before the words spill out of his mouth. Eli herself doesn't even have the chance to look disappointed at him before Tali laughs sadly.

"Yeah, he's… he's a lot sweeter when he's clean and… we may have…" The exposition is lost to her, the words failing the minute they leave her lips. Because none of the backstory is important, only what happens at the end. So she takes a deep breath, holds back another sob, then looks between them as she summons enough willpower to speak.

" _I'm pregnant."_

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

_I lost meanin' in the world. Findin' a job was hard, the woman I loved left town to marry her childhood sweetheart, and my folks were gone the minute I graduated – back then I still felt bitter about that. Soon enough I became disconnected from the rest of the town cause I, for some misguided reason, blamed it for everythin' that went wrong. But that was a dark time in my life, where youth was robbed from me and where my ambitions fell apart. These days they're nuthin' but sour afterthoughts about what was and what could have been… left to be forgotten the moment after, focusin' instead on what is and what should be. The past is like a great shadow, but like a shadow it is intangible and is utterly incapable of hurting you unless you let it. So don't let it. And hold on to those you hold dear, cause even in the dark, they'll find ya'._

_~Calvary Pride, in an interview at the beginning of his mayoral campaign where he was asked about why he was the town drunk_

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

Winter comes, icy and listless as the town vanishes beneath the fog rolling down the hills. It is a quiet time in Bronc Town, as the holidays and their obligatory cheer are shrouded in the mist, only their songs ever managing to ring through the air.

And through this lingering frost comes Calvary Pride, his footfalls crunching against the snow-laden path, eyes peering through the hazy obstruction every minute or so before his gaze retreats to the trees lining the sidewalk, a familiar sight that tells him exactly where he is.

When he comes upon the sight of a large tree surrounded by cement benches embedded into the floor, he veers off the path, feeling the grass at the bottom of his feet beneath the ankle-high layer of snow. He walks on until he finds another cement walkway that leads into the block. He follows it, eyes still low, affixed at his feet.

He rolls his shoulders against the cold, old man winter whispering in his ear, making him shiver against the frost, patting it with a gloved hand.

He finds the bushes that hug the path, leading him towards the pale green double doors he's been looking for. But he doesn't immediately enter, his heart sinking for a moment, caught in his inhaled breath.

And despite being there for barely a minute, he feels that it's taken him entirely too long to come in. But he's there still in the tundra, thinking of what to say or how to say it, delaying him further and further, all to quell his aching heart.

He does not find the words or the calm he's looking for, and yet abandons their pursuit to press on unprepared, opening the doors to announce him to the room.

The school's gym is dark and relatively empty, and his eyes shifting to the bleachers that was once filled with a roaring crowd, once seating him as he cheered Tali on when she competed in wrestling against other schools here, or sat in idle admiration at Eli's first performance on that adjacent stage, playing Moonlight Sonata, her favorite piece.

Drifting his attention to the center of the room, he finds Tali sitting on a wrestling mat, her winter wear just as heavy as his, all alone underneath the only light in the area. Perhaps it's a little dramatic, but it's supposed to be. And it isn't like he'd argue, he'd made a promise after all and he'd fulfill it.

He wants to say 'hi', to greet her as easily as he normally would, but this moment is tarnished by a lingering loneliness. Embittered, he cannot hold his tongue. "So you're leavin' me too?"

She looks over her shoulder in surprise, so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn't noticed him enter. She stands but cannot bring herself to face him, almost making to walk a bit further so he doesn't come too close, but she stays in place, seeing her own sorrow mirror his before staring back into the floor. "I don't have a choice, Cal. It's always been my dream and… I get it, it's _so_ last minute but I can't pass up this opportunity." She glances back at him again, hand timidly clutching her forearm. "Can't you just be happy for me?"

His hands clasp her upper arms gently. "I am… I'm just not happy for me."

Her hands come together, shrinking at the thought of leaving him alone in this town. "I'll be back in six months," she reasons, trying to comfort him as much as she is herself.

She can feel his fingers tense, but they aren't hard or angry… they're desperate, whimpering. "And if the Academy decides yer too good for a quiet little town down south? If they decide you should be in Zootopia? In the city?"

She shakes her head. She only barely got accepted because someone had to back out in the middle of training. She'll be a latecomer to the Police Academy, so she'll have to work extra hard to even catch up. There's no guarantee she'll even graduate at this point. "It won't come to that…"

"Now don't sell yourself short… not in front o' me." It comes out like a whisper, a plea of a different kind, one that tells her that his faith in her, bold and ever present, challenges her waning confidence. He shifts to her front, a hand rising to her cheek to wipe away a tear and staying there. "You'll do great things," he says with an aching smile.

His sodden gaze meets hers, hating himself. "My pain is selfish, lonely. But it doesn't mean I don't think you'll make it big. In fact, that very idea is what hurts the most. Yer destined for great things." He feels trapped in this small town, alone in the world because the people he loves are leaving him. His parents live in Zootopia while he stays at home, Eli has gone off to reunite with her childhood sweetheart, and Tali is leaving town for the academy. But he's still here, drifting in stasis, his ambitions trampled and stained.

Suddenly she loops her arms around his neck, his hands falling to her waist over her jacket. "You make me strong," she whispers, "so I don't want to leave you. I'll write, I'll call, and you'll be the first person I'll see when I come back. Just… hang in there, for me."

Calvary would never forgive himself if he ever managed to make her stay, to snuff out her dream because he'd be left alone, and she knows this. So she'll make it as easy as she could possibly make it for him. She'll do whatever she can to make this transition less daunting for him and, honestly, herself.

They embrace, filling the gaps with their warmth, smothering the pain till the moment overwhelms it.

She steps back and out of the embrace. "I was supposed to have my Debut," she laughs, looking up at him a genuine smile. She leans down at the boombox behind her and hits play for a slow, quiet melody. "And _you_ promised _me_ a dance."

She takes off her jacket, revealing a deep silver dress that hugs her frame but does nothing to cover the taut strength in her arms and legs. Tali is barely a thin woman in this regard, but he has always known her this way.

His own jacket falls and his dull brown suit beneath it doesn't compliment her, but she doesn't care, and neither does he.

Slowly he waltzes with her, the song drowning out the sounds of the whipping tundra, her body flush against his as they draw each other in. A scene that might have been intimate were it not desperate.

His fingers slip between hers, clutching her carefully before their hands fall away. The waltz ends and they hold each other instead, his hands on her waist and her arms around his neck, forehead-to-forehead, eyes shut to revel in the other and nothing else.

For a moment he thinks he could love her, more than he ever has before, but his heart does not take that plunge despite the yearning across his lips. When he opens his eyes, he finds her lips quivering for much the same, but neither of them are foolish enough to engage in that empty gesture, not wanting to tarnish their friendship with a desperate need to feel warmth.

But even as they pull away and she smiles gently at him, love is in their eyes, one that is genuine, platonic. And there is comfort in that, perhaps more than there should be, but it might be enough to keep him together.

She leans in to whisper in his ear. "You'll dance with me again, won't you?"

"One day," he says with a hint of heartache.

She pulls back, gaze stuck staring down his chest. "One day _soon,_ " she corrects, as she fiddles with his lapels, not meeting his eyes.

She kisses him on the cheek then, her hands falling down his arms to finally clasp his hands for the last time in what will be a long time, walking away as she takes her jacket and hitting stop on his boombox.

Light pours out of the open door into the hallway, and she stands at its precipice, dress glistening in the pale, cold light. "I leave in the morning," she says, turning to him. "Will you see me off?"

He almost laughs at that, cause it would be silly of him not to. "I'll be there early."

She laughs briefly then, not sure why but she does so with the brimming colors off her frame, telling him that her heart is aglow with the relief that he'll be there for her anyway. She walks off with the promise stitched into her sleeve, making her way to the door.

Calvary almost walks away himself, but he is transfixed on her back and then to the boombox she helped him buy. There is history between them, one that is long enduring yet littered with too many things left unspoken. And in an instance of desperation, he calls her out. "Mink!" She turns, sparing him a curious glance. "Ya' think that, if I ever loved you, then maybe you mighta stayed?"

"No, Cal," she laughs, almost bitterly. "It would have just been harder to say goodbye."

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

_When she told me that she wanted to move out, I disagreed. It was the first time we ever had a difference of opinion on something so major. To most people it would have been a problem easily resolved, but there was more that lingered beneath the surface. We knew nothing of a life outside of each other, and that harrowing unknown looming overhead… it was something we'd have to resolve immediately, else we'd risk letting it destroy us later on. But in the end we had faith that we'd come back, that we were meant to be, and that sense of underlying loyalty had only made us stronger together._

_~Rostetler Rundi, a conversation between him and Lutessa Avery over some coffee at Catfrani_

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

There is a quiet apartment in the coastal city of Orca, tucked away in a building that sells permanent residences, standing high above the city in its towering vantage point, encompassing an entire floor. It is lined with glass windows, itself touched by the morning sun that leers in the western horizon, breached by the silver slithers of twilight bridged by the ocean in the east.

It has housed the Ferris bloodline for four generations now, serving as their haven, their sanctuary. But where it once housed each generation individually, the many rooms have been left empty save for the dust and their ghosts lingering in the frosted air, leaving behind only the youngest two to sovereign the home: Elira and Mark Ferris, and their charge, Rostetler Rundi.

_There is a symphony that echoes against its walls, a song of a lifetime carved heartily into every crevice. A tempo that rises and falls, a cacophony of sound that whistles quietly against the cracks and flits aimlessly in the wide open spaces._

_At first it is solemn, peaceful, as the pitter patter of tiny feet is offset by careful stomps of Eli's mother and father who watch their children play._

Little Ross and Eli blow raspberries at Mark before scurrying away as the elder sibling chases after them. Mark is careful of the spaces about him, not wanting to make a mess with their play.

His much longer legs give him a significant advantage over them, however, and he quickly catches up to them as they round a corner and bolt for the front door, only to realize that they can' treach the knob. He nearly pounces at them but when he's a mere foot away, he raises a finger to "give him a sec" and pretends to be out of breath.

His mother giggles at the sight as Eli and Ross push passed him and away.

She notes how Ross's hand is basically plastered to Eli's and she only hums in approval, her tired eyes fluttering shut as she leans onto her husband's shoulder. "They're inseparable," she muses, "isn't it just the cutest thing you've ever seen?"

"Cute is one thing," her husband grumbles, "whether or not he's good enough for her is entirely another."

She raises a hand to flick the side of his ear. "Hun, please, they're only children. It is _far_ too early to be thinking about that."

"Is it, really?" He turns to her, his somber features burning through his guilt-ridden eyes. "He doesn't even know about his mother yet."

She doesn't argue, adopting her optimism still as she fiercely denies her own dejection from bubbling up to the surface, in fear of letting the children see, disregarding the fact that her husband is not so adamant. "We'll tell him after dinner so he can sleep on what to do about it."

"That's not a lot of time for a kid to process something so serious."

She sighs drearily, the curl of her lips upward still. "No one at any age can process something like this overnight, but this way he'll be asleep for the first few hours of it at least."

"Will that really help?"

"One can only hope, dear. Small mercies are all we can offer him."

_The song turns dour, slowly yet surely, as the end of the night draws in and Ross is met with terrible news. His mother, who is in Zootopia for the weekend, has come down with a terrible illness, a sudden affliction that might take her life long before he even manages the three day trip there. It tears at him, gnawing at his fragile resolve as the young cub cries himself to sleep. But Eli is there like she always is. Already without a father, he fears he'll be orphaned and alone, so he decides that he will never lose anyone ever again._

_Strength becomes the herald of the symphony, a strong yet vibrant staccato accompanying Ross as he finds his lot in life, a fervent, valiant dream to become the stalwart guard that protects all that he has left._

_The coming morning brings with it great news, however grim it might still be. Ross's mother has survived her operation but they have only managed to give her a few days. So Ferris's take Ross to her._

They drive as fast as they can but the car never goes fast enough for Ross. It's been two days already and his mother's condition only manages to worsen. He is anxious in the car, fidgeting endlessly with his puffy little eyes still red from all the balling he'd been doing.

Eli is close by, only an inch away so he can have his space. If he ever needs her, he'll close the gap, but now the little cub is alone with his thoughts.

She watches him and his faraway gaze, aching terribly at the sight, but Mark steadies her extended hand with his own. Then his hand slips away and pets her head to calm her down.

He gives her a smile that she only sighs at, but she surrenders, knowing that she can't force Ross. So she falls against her brother's grasp, sinking into the gap beneath his arm as he pulls her close.

And then Ross falls to her side as she cradles him too, a fuzzy feeling bubbling inside of her as he nestles himself in her side, shutting his eyes.

Mark rests his arm over them both, sparing a glance at the rearview mirror where his parents look straight on, doing all the worrying for them.

His gaze turns somber as his mother directs his father into another turn, a shortcut she says, trying to make it there as soon as they can.

_They make it there the following day, on a quiet, rainy afternoon, and it all but devastates Ross. Cause his mother loves the rain, and little Ross can only think that God is welcoming her into His home with it, all too soon for him to accept._

_Its soft pitter patter against her window eases her in her last moments, her calm filling the room as the symphony turns somber again, the strings playing languidly against the darkening skies._

_Ross cries but he hates himself for it. His mother asks him to see her off with his bright little smile with his gentle, loving eyes, but can't bring himself to do it, burying his features in her blanket, trying to smother the sorrow away for her._

_Then Eli sings and the symphony quiets to her melody, her voice filling the spaces. It's a lullaby his mother used to sing to him, ushering a quiet little soul to slumber… and Ross sings along, wiping his tears away as he holds his mother's hand for the last time._

_His strength pours into her, begging her to stay just a little longer. But she lays a gentle hand to his head, and she tells him it's going to be okay and that she and his father will always be there for him._

_And so she quietly passes away._

_Then the symphony comes to life again, the final note on that act ascending in a deep, playful crescendo as years pass and the baby fat of their cheeks gives way bolder, older features. Though still quite young, preteens wiggle their way out of their innocence and discover a word called love…_

Ross walks into Mark's room with a hard, sturdy look on his face which, in all honesty, cannot be taken seriously with a cub his height. But his determination, steely yet undeniably adorable, is enough to warn Mark of his pseudo-brother's inevitable proposal of whatever childish scheme he has going on…

But he doesn't expect an actual _proposal._

Mark stares intently at the tiny black box Ross pulls out and he is momentarily stunned, rather terrified really, until he realizes who it's probably for.

He stifles his laughter but it's already too late and Ross is embarrassed enough to turn his ears red. He grunts readily at him. "Mark! C'mon, I'm trying to be serious here!"

He kills the laughter in his throat, slapping his chest so he can rid himself of it. "Okay, okay. Sorry." He leans back then rolls his hand, gesturing for him to go on.

"Mark Ferris!" he shouts, a little louder than is entirely necessary. "I, Ross Rundi–"

" _Rostetler,_ " Mark corrects calmly.

" _Ross,_ " he readily denies. "Rostetler's dumb and hard to pronounce."

"But… you just said it," he responds pointedly.

"Mark!" Ross whines.

He pats Ross on the head slowly. "Alright, alright… I'll stop." He rolls his hand again.

With a huff and another bout of determination, he clasps the box and opens it to reveal a tiny plastic ring. He shuts his eyes before going on, not wanting to see his face. "I, Ross Rundi, would be most honored if you would allow me to take your sister's hand in marriage!"

Ross cracks open an eye to see Mark's unimpressed gaze, raising a playful yet quizzical brow. "Ugh! _Please?_ "

Mark's face brightens as he pats his shoulder. "That's my boy," he says proudly.

"So it's a _yes_!?"

Ross's bright little eyes make Mark chuckle, but the little guy's got a lot to learn still. And though there is some merit in giving a child the freedom to discover things on their own, Mark is of the opinion that there are some things you don't let them get away with misinterpreting. And so, with a quiet yet brotherly sigh, he sits Ross down. "It's not a yes, kiddo, but not a no either."

The cub's deflating expression almost kills him inside but it's clear that he wants to hear what else he has to say, clinging to the "not a no" part rather desperately.

"Maybe in the future you should ask me that again… but not today, or any time soon."

"But I want to protect her!"

Mark shuts the box in Ross's hands, cupping his hand over Ross's. "And you don't need _this_ to do that." He pulls away, giving him that same brotherly smile, silently asking him to listen like he always does with that look. Mark's features soften then, deciding not to take his response much too seriously. "You gotta take this slow, buddy, cause you're going too fast for even _me._ Marriage and love are both big decisions and even I don't know what they are just yet. So I gotta ask ya' to slow down for both me and El and… let us catch up. And when I know what those words mean, you can ask me again."

Ross isn't ignorant to what he really means, but he isn't a stubborn child and concedes. Mark, operating on the same wavelength, laughs with him as Ross surrenders and playfully headbutts his one day brother-in-law.

_The juvenile little jingle quiets for a moment as Ross places the little box in his drawer for safe keeping, giving himself time to know what it really, truly means to love._

_And one day, a few years down the road, he gets an idea of what love might be… and then asks her out. It's a disaster since they both try way too hard to make it as textbook as possible, following advice from friends whose understanding is as equally limited. Then they give up and consider that maybe they shouldn't be dating._

_Saddened by the idea, they comfort each other by doing what they usually do together for fun. They go out for ice cream and crack jokes about the lifestyles of passersby who'll never hear them behind the parlor's glass windows. Then they watch a movie and toss popcorn at each other at the expense of other movie-goers and skillfully hiding under their thin, ebony fur in the darkness. When they head home, they're laughing and intentionally bumping into each other. It's then that Mark comes in to welcome them home and comments, "I see the date went well."_

_And then they realize that they'd had it right all along._

_Then years pass and the pair is already sixteen, having been dating for three of them._

She plays heartily on the piano, her fingers dancing excitedly against the keys, spring her hand in her whole arm staccato. Beside her, Ross picks at the keys with the same fervor, swaying against his own melody beside her on the same piano, giving her a coy smirk as she bumps his shoulder with her own, playing his keys without looking.

She mirrors the purse of his lips, heads bobbing as they play together, then they both raise a brow as they look each other up and down with a once over.

Their heads seem to dance with the rhythm, pulling back then slowly forth in sync with the crescendo at each other.

Mark Ferris, leaning against the archway behind them, shakes his head at how silly they're being, letting the joy sink into his tired bones as he struggles to ignore the somber gloom beneath his skin. He sighs at the sight, dragging a smile against his lips once more, telling himself that it will all be alright… that she'll come back and they'll happily be together again.

Ross and Eli know full well that their love for each other has been the only one they've ever known. And the idea that one day they might look to the world and wonder what love elsewhere might have been like is a terrifying prospect.

So, together, and with the careful approval of their guardian and elder brother respectively, they decide to separate for a time and look for love elsewhere. And if love deems that they are meant to be, they'll find each other again.

Ross's father, who died at war, knew a man named Henry Avery, and Mark has had the pleasure of knowing the man as well. They live in Bronc Town, not too far inland from Orca itself, and with their eldest daughter going off to college elsewhere, they've decided to take Eli in for a time.

She'll be taken care of, and they'll endure this test with silent determination, but even now it seems like their resolve for this mutual and – hopefully – temporary separation quickly wanes like a wilting flower beneath their quiet, almost stormy denial, grinning ear-to-ear in an attempt to quell that dissonance of what they want to feel and how they actually feel.

And then there's the music… it's been their longest lived companion, and today it serves to bury their woes. But as much as the Marche Millitaire serves to distract the two, the song only lasts so long.

So as it ends, together they play Schubert's Fantasie, a piece that is first slow and contemplative, drawing away the playful smirks from their faces, replacing them with gentle smiles curling their hearty lips. And that last image of them together is exactly what Mark wants to remember. And he leaves with that in his mind's eye.

But they never finish the song.

Their fingers suddenly converge at the center, perhaps intentionally, leaving the room in silence, gawking at each other with a million and one things to say… but none of it ever said.

Instead they kiss, thinking that it might be their last together, begging fate and God above to bring them back together in the end.

_And so the symphony quiets as the room empties. Ross studies so he can join the Police Academy in two years and Eli goes to Bronc Town to finish her high school. And the goodbye is as bitter as any farewell, the song dying in the wind along with their fantasy of a perfect life together, killing the fairytale as they harden their hearts to find love again… somewhere else._

_Then the symphony plays again, different tunes for different couples. They have their crescendos, their own flare and whip, they have fireflies whistling to languid nights, burning against their skin as they find comfort in the arms of another._

_But then those songs – like any other – find their end._

_And on that piano in a lonely apartment over the city, they find each other again. And together they play a new song to seal their love in matrimony… until death do they part._

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

_Before I even married into the family, I had always felt like I was already part of it. I suppose it's par the course by the quality of such folk, bein' so welcomin' and irrevocably kind. And there's an allure to it, an atmosphere that always feels safe. Bein' a Hector meant that I was part o' somethin' bigger than myself… we're a whole, ya' see, incomplete when we're not all together._

_~Karvina Hector in an evening chat with Lutessa Avery_

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

Raeger Hector slams open the front door as he drags in a large crate, heaving even with their large cake cart tugging the large thing in. He doesn't hear the wheels turning and he grits his teeth against the uncomfortable sound of the cart scraping against the hardwood floor.

Once finally in the center of the living room, he lets loose a great sigh as he falls onto a recliner. And just then, the sweet smell of apple pie fills the air, alighting his senses, letting him relax to it. "Marcus, brother o' mine! Are you makin' that sweet, sweet oven music again?"

Toiling at the kitchen still, Marcus groans in response. "Quit the flattery, Raeger, it ain't even supper yet."

Strength renewed, Raeger jogs in to see the baked goods lining the island counter, slobbering after it, just about ready to steal one, but Marcus is vigilant and swats his hand away.

Then his sister-in-law walks in, the gentle Karvina "Kara" Hector leaning against the doorframe. "Oh, Marcus, don't be such a prude," she says. "Let your brother have some pie."

Marcus only deadpans at them both as he readies another pan for the oven. "Kara, I'd be far more inclined to agree with ya' if you weren't gunnin' for 'em too."

"Not my fault my husband's the best damn baker in town." Karvina shuffles to her husband's backside and rubs his shoulders to ease him. Of course she's only teasing and she's a patient enough woman to wait for dinner, she'd otherwise set a terrible example for her son, which is more than she could say about her brother-in-law Raeger.

Then, said son waddles into the room, the baby fat cheeks of Marshal Hector gleaming against his soft skin as he tilts his head at them, no doubt drawn in by the same smell but is too short to see them on the counter.

"Yer son's famished too, Marcus," Raeger remarks, winking at Marshal. "At least let him have an early slice."

Again, Marcus is steadfast, but chooses not to argue it further, shaking his head.

Raeger takes the hint and rolls his eyes, leaning against the counter as he inhales the heady scent of sweet apple pie, but a bead of sweat trickles down his brow and the pig realizes that the heat off the oven is circulating in the room without an escape. "Mighty hot in here, brother."

Marcus leers snidely. "Then stay out of my kitchen if ya' can't handle it."

Raeger rolls his eyes playfully. "At least let me crack open a window."

Marcus makes no effort to stop him as he makes his way to the window above the rusted oven and he looks down at the decaying thing with unease, almost fearful that it might erupt beneath him. They'd gone through so many this year that it seemed like they'd go broke buying another cheap oven. Instead, Karvina had found a quality Victory-branded brick oven. It's expensive, monstrously so, but it's an investment in their future, opening avenues to all sorts of things in the Savory Bakery's business.

Marcus hums proudly as he pulls out another pie, though it's a little burnt on one side. These cheap ovens tend to lose even heating, so they end up having to cook longer. Though Marcus has mastered a sense of timing with making sure he pulls it out just before it burns and just when it's ready, he still falters here and there.

He then places the pie on the counter as he looks at his brother and then his wife as they take in whiffs of the freshly baked goods. He can only sigh, hiding the little inkling of pride swelling in him that his talent for cooking could emit such genuine, wordless praise. But he pulls himself out of his pride and catches his brother's attention. "Hey, ya' brought in the crate, right?"

Raeger nods. "Sure did. You manage to find my old crowbar?"

"Mhm," Marcus replies.

Karvina takes initiative and ushers Raeger towards the doorframe where the old rusty tool leans against the wall. "C'mon, let's crack it open," she winks at him, knowing full well that he likes showing off how strong he is.

The family shifts into the living room with the large crate. Kara immediately worries about the stress they're putting on their cart, and if her husband's frustrated sigh is any indication, he is too.

Marcus slowly tips the cart to drop the box, and Raeger, ever eager, is at its side, ready to pry it open.

Since the crate is as tall as Raeger's eye level, he first jams the crowbar into it and then grasps the tool firmly. He hops up and down for a bit as little Marshal watches him with anticipation. Then Raeger jumps as high as he can, pressing down on the crowbar as he descends.

The wood gives way with a hardy snap as the nails come loose and the lid pops off, the sight of it and Raeger landing like an action hero on one knee making the little pig clap proudly, Raeger responding with a snide grin at his little fan.

Dropping the lid uselessly to the side, the adult Hectors leer over the mouth of the crate to find the various assortments of metal and piping inside, wrapped cleanly in plastics with a manual sitting at the top.

"Looks real complicated, brother," Raeger remarks, holding up the thick instruction manual and leafing through the stacks step-by-step guidelines.

Marcus shrug. "We'll sort it out."

"Besides," Kara adds, the pleasant glint in her eyes swallowing his hesitation, "I've already got an idea of how it's put together so it won't take long."

There is a sudden crash in the kitchen, the sound of one of the pans clanging against the floor, causing Kara to gasp and her son to jump. "What was that?"

They pour back into the kitchen to find a crow that has apparently flown in from the window and is now nibbling on one of the pies that it has toppled to the floor. Marcus almost makes to shoo it away but Raeger is the first to react, pushing passed them in anger with the crowbar still in hand.

The crow is struck with a meaty thud as it slams against the wall and slumps to the floor. It is mangled now, bones clearly shattered with some of its feathers displaced. A crow might have normally died from such an impact, but this one didn't… and the prospects of it are now immediately apparent to all in the room.

"Rae!" Kara scolds as she shields her son's eyes from the grizzly sight. "What were you thinkin', doin' that in front o' Marshal!?"

"It's a pest and it was eatin' our supper!" Raeger reasons, shaking his head when he sees that she isn't going to agree with him. He storms over to the crow, its broken wheezing doing nothing to earn his pity, only furthering his ire.

"Raeger," Marcus says calmly, a hand on his shoulder. "Whatever yer' thinkin', you best refrain from doin' it."

He almost doesn't respond, face twisting in a scowl down at the twitching cretin. "I say we kill it," he says, tone agitated and baleful.

" **No!** " Kara shouts, clearly having had enough of his malign. "Poor thing's still breathin'. We oughta save it, given what ungodly thing you gone and done to 'im."

"I'm not about to waste my time on a pest!"

The two devolve into an argument but Marcus tunes it out.

He approaches the crow and gives it a scrutinizing gaze, its eye staring up at him with a hint of pleading. _It's more than just injured… its bones are broken, too many of them, even._ The bird is too far gone, already on the process of dying, but its body refuses to give up when all it wants is the pain to end.

Mercy… it's all Marcus can think of when he stares down at it with pity, its squawking is perhaps a prayer for just that. At least, that's what he tells himself.

"It's in pain," Marcus says, turning to the two. They're surprised to find him so calm and collected about it. But before Raeger can argue, he continues. "It deserves mercy, but not the kind that can save it. It's too late fer' that."

Karvina doesn't like the idea and Raeger just wants it to suffer, but there must be a compromise. It's unspoken between them, but it's clear as day. Marcus could very well take the lead and do what he wants, but he's only stalling because this is a joint decision, something the family decides together, and Marcus takes this opportunity to ask them to make it like that.

Kara sighs, leaving her son's side to join the three of them around the crow. "What do you need me to do?"

Raeger steps forward as well, the look he's giving her echoing a silent apology for his outburst. Though not entirely sincere, since the man is still adamant about his opinion, Karvina accepts it as it is and offers him a smile, however sad it might be.

Marcus instructs them to cradle it gently whilst holding its body still. And the tiny thing, so fragile in Raeger's hands, looks up at him strangely, as if thankful to have it all end.

He doesn't know what to think then, any semblance of his fury evaporating in an instant. He glances over at Karvina beside him who is also left feeling rather surreal. But just as the pity sets in, they hear a snap.

It startles the two as they look down at the crow, fast enough to see Marcus's hands over its head, retreating back to him. Before they could've even realized what they were doing, Marcus had already done the deed, and without blinking.

His stoic expression doesn't come into question. Kara merely accepts it as is but Raeger feels like he's watching a different kind of person. Familiar but not the same. But as he looks at his hands being emptied of the bird, he realizes that he still doesn't quite understand his brother.

And as little Marshal walks in with a shoebox ready to bury the crow in, he thinks that perhaps he doesn't quite understand his nephew either.

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

_Old Monty's cottage was a safe haven for us when we were kids. When we heard stories about the war, they were never littered with all that patriotic propaganda because our music appreciation teacher, Mr. Balsif, – bless his soul – felt like we shouldn't be enamored by the idea of war. And since Monty was a soldier himself… well we treated him like a recovering family member rather than a war vet… I think he kind of preferred it that way too. In a way, we all felt like we were safe in that place._

_~Elizabeth "Liz" Waterdale, an excerpt from her diary she shared years later with Kayla Rivers when she asked about Fyfly and Monty_

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

Home. The concept of it almost felt foreign to Montgomery Kidd. War made it feel like a lifetime away and now that he's here it's almost difficult to fathom, to fully accept that he's found peace. But now the old walls of his cottage echo with the laughter of children, the semblance of a freedom he's fought for, aloft in some overwhelming sense of tranquility.

When he exits his front door, he hears the soft creak of his porch, the wood tapping beneath the footfalls of little Marshal Hector with Liz Waterdale on his shoulders and Audrey Avery giggling after them as she runs down the steps and scampers towards the dock where she feebly attempts a swan dive into his lake.

Her splash is follow by another as Marshal tosses the little otter on his shoulders into the lake, as far as he can throw her, pulling off a successful swan dive, plunging into the water before emerging as gracefully as her species permits. And then Marshal cannonballs off the dock, his splash wetting his dry friends relaxing on the lake's edge.

Monty leans over the railing of his porch, spying his nephew, Arthur Kidd, in the distance on a lifeguard's chair, eyes scanning cautiously over the children. He tries to hide his apprehension beneath his shades, a show of bravado that betrays his worrisome demeanor but the anxious goat flinching at any sign of trouble is every indication that he is anything but.

Monty only shakes his head at the sight, but then he sees him relax a moment later as he leans forward on his seat and, suddenly, smiles and waves.

He follows his nephew's sight and spots a bull, a donkey, and a musk deer wave at the kids as they scream excitedly.

"Fyfly!" the children yell, voices on varying degrees of juvenile fanfare.

There is a hint of disappointment in him when he realizes that they haven't brought any liquor with them like they usually do, but their expressions are just the tiniest bit sad, so he shrugs it off in favor of his curiosity and concern.

Monty steps down from his perch to approach them, hiding his worry beneath a smile. "Good to see you boys."

"Always a pleasure, Monty," Suther Hicks greets, his fanged teeth baring on his grin.

Casey Cell, the donkey, however, spares no context when he readily embraces Monty instead.

Barry Whitman, the bull behind them, is typically the friendliest of the lot, but he's suspiciously hesitant at the moment, entirely unable to even meet his eyes. But Monty won't have any of it and spreads his arms wide for the silent bull, and the display is enough to make him embarrassed, and then, suddenly, a little emotional.

Barry can't take it anymore, promptly embracing the comparatively smaller goat. "I'm gonna miss ya', Monty," he says, almost in a whisper.

He returns the steady embrace and then pats his back. He looks solemnly at the three young men, his expression telling them that he hasn't missed Barry's meaning at all. "So you boys are skipping town?"

"'Fraid so," Suther shrugs, smiling sadly. "Wish we didn't have to but our music is all we have and we won't get anywhere if we don't start learning from people who actually know what they're doing."

"Ah, so you're following that music teacher back to Zootopia?"

"That's the plan," Casey pipes up, his sharp voice rumbling along his throat as if chambered in a thick flute. "Our only regret is that we have to leave you all behind…"

Monty thinks it's quite humbling to be around them. The boys have no delusions of grandeur, knowing full well that they aren't born musical protégés. Instead they strive for talent, to be adept enough to make a living, the ideology of wannabe rock stars well behind them, stricken by adulthood but struggling for their passions devoid of a suffocating desk job.

But as mature as they are, the idea that they might sustain themselves outside of their band is a dream that is still a little far off. And Monty chuckles at the idea that they might have to take odd jobs to keep themselves afloat there in Zootopia, but they'll make it, he knows they will.

Otherwise, he'll drive out to that city and fetch them himself.

"Why don't you boys stay a while," Monty says as he ushers them towards the dock. "Consider it a hearty farewell."

And as he sits them at the dock, the children gather at their legs, laughing and playing as the young men splash water their way.

It is not long until they forget their woes, the world vanishing beneath the elsewhere river the lake bleeds into. And the quiet of the forest permeates through the air, sheltering them like a veil, their rancor lost in muted echoes through the ancient wood, stirring the crows that flutter overhead.

Monty's age is almost ripe to be elderly. Luckily he isn't greying just yet but he can feel his bones physically age in the presence of so much youth. So he laughs bitterly, quietly, but only to himself.

No one hears him when he sighs, he wouldn't want them to.

A moment passes and he strikes away his little torments and settles in his own resolve, planting a foot against Barry's back then kicking him into the water as the kids giggle around him. Then the children join in by pulling Suther's lightweight frame down to join them. And Casey only shrugs as he slips off the dock.

The goat then makes his way to the porch, before turning around to stare at the lake up ahead.

Then, with a hearty yell that actively defies the countdown to the inevitable, Monty runs across the full length of the dock, shouting with all the strength in his scarred lungs, the pain lancing through his legs being rigorously ignored as he propels himself off the dock's edge, soaring over the water until he reaches the center of the lake, before plunging in himself.

Though the display is much to the dismay of his worrisome nephew, Arthur takes in the sight carefully as everyone around him enjoys themselves.

A hefty sigh escapes his dry lips, allowing himself to finally relax now that the water is filled with able adults. But it is with a somber thought that he wonders where they'll all be in a year's time, and if the memories they make today might last passed the lives they'll build outside this little sanctuary in the forest.

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

_Capo, Head of Forensics, The Winter Scourge, they were tokens of my life, my past, and I cannot deny that they were part of me, but it did not take me long to not want them. Because in each one of them I saw_ _ **blood**_ _, by my hands or otherwise. I was witness to it, an unwilling participant to a show reel of endless death… and a life lived that way…? In the end I knew that I had to walk away from it, I had to retire,_ early _if need be. But then I was asked to be Sheriff to Bronc Town, for in its heyday, during its official turn as a county, it needed someone like me to watch over it, and I was chosen as its Sheriff without election… I thought it would be no different, really. Just another bloody chapter in my life. But then it wasn't. I met good people, had a quiet little home…_ fell in love _… and soon enough I thought, "God has forgiven me, and has blessed me with a drop of Heaven's glow after my arduous penance" … I've always been a religious man, but I never knew I'd ever feel loved in_ every way _like this…_

_~Sheriff Denzel Creed, a snippet of a recording from Gizelle Ripple's interview with him that was never released to the public… kept instead in a personal keepsake box as the rest of the recordings were deleted_

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

Perhaps it is an act of mercy – by either God or by some political head with an attentive ear and some pity – that Creed has been gifted an escape from Zootopia and all its underlying turmoil. Though his time in the ZPD alongside the famous Sam and Bogo might have been an invaluable service to the community, a hint of redemption that might have very well absolved him, Creed still feels the weight of his age coiling around his tired bones, heavier still with his past still lingering beneath the brimming neon lights of Zootopia that slowly ebb away in the distant horizon beside the rising morning sun.

There is a hint of remorse in him for leaving home, really, and the letter he received about this whole " _becoming sheriff_ " debacle might have been written off as a scam were it not for the almost urgent phone call he received prior to leaving.

Creed coughs, the heat of his old Valiant pouring out of the broken AC that he swears he should just turn off already, but the open window invites in the cold air but is perhaps a little much with all the country air. Creed's just trying to balance out the two temperatures, but it's all at a cost of his comfort. However, it nevertheless serves as a distraction from his journey.

Though still not old enough to retire, he certainly feels older than he looks, and it shows when he yawns and nearly falls asleep at the wheel. He used to have more stamina than this but he hardly gets much exercise when he's locked away in the lab. In the very least, he's hoping that being Sheriff might make him more active.

He greets the sun peeking out of the hills with a snarl, feeling more and more bitter with every same-y looking pasture, its luster long lost amidst its duplicity in practically every mile back!

But then the valley gives way to lush farmlands, the sweet smell of fresh produce and the scent of great grain silos filling the air, and suddenly he feels like he might come to like the place after all if it kept smelling like this.

He comes upon Old Henry, the old war machine sitting idly on the roadside as it rusts, gathering hints of flora snaking along its frame. He knows it's a landmark, a clear sign that he's on the right road, but he only spares it a glance. He never went to war, a hint of shame blooming in him still as that chance to right his wrongs was ruefully ignored in favor of his lavish Mafioso lifestyle. But the memories of that are tucked away again as he enters the forest that hugs the town, the wheat, dew, and produce scents trapped behind a wall of oak that burns the heavy smell of oncoming Autumn into the air instead.

The welcome sign for Bronc Town is quickly sped past, but all Creed can think of now is finding his new bed. But he knows the formality has to come first, so instead of heading straight into Stable Village, the _only_ neighborhood in town, he goes straight for City Hall which, to him, is honestly a strange name to keep for a political building in a _town_ of all places. " _Cause_ that's _not going to get confusing anytime soon..."_

Now at the town proper, Creed rolls down the road against the uncomfortable heat dominating his car. All of a sudden, he's too hot to carry on and too tired to give enough shits, especially not about that gaudy bronze statue in the center of town, refracting the sun's rays to burn in his periphery.

It's then that he sees Catfrani, a diner just off the side of the Horace Memorial. And he is at awe, as everything about its city-like aesthetic and the promise of hot commercial coffee is enough to lure him in immediately.

The air is of burnt coffee and morning breath, of air conditioning and the lukewarm heat of early sunrise, and they recall memories of nights spent in a lonely diner either on a stake out or just to be out of the house.

As he sinks into one of the peach-colored seats, he sighs happily, and wonders if this will perhaps be his new favorite place.

"Mornin', hun," comes a feminine voice, his eye opening to the sight of an ocelot waitress. "What'll ya' have?"

"Coffee, if you would."

"What kind?"

"Any," he laughs heartily, his rotund belly heaving with it, "but preferably the strongest you have."

She giggles at the large man, perhaps overcome by his bellowed laugh. "One Wake-up Call, then. Who should I make it out to?"

"Denzel Creed… though I suppose _Sheriff_ Creed is more appropriate?" he asks quizzically, not a hint of sheepishness about him.

She blinks at him for a moment too long, almost to make it awkward for herself, until she realizes that he'd been expecting an actual answer. "Oh! Um… I guess it's really up to you." She gives him a nervous chuckle, but then he laughs again with her, and suddenly she regains her composure, draining her embarrassment straight out of her cheeks. "The new sheriff, huh? Think I could get a free pass sometime if the coffee's free?"

He shrugs apologetically, hands splayed out. "I'm afraid not." He wishes he could at least be playful about the idea but he can't encourage that behavior even in the slightest, because that attitude towards local law enforcement is exactly why he, an outsider, is being sent in as sheriff. The mayor is afraid that the new county and its minimalistic populace might abuse their close-knit relationship with a locally bred figure head in their new Sheriff's Department.

Creed was briefed of this rather explicitly before he even left Zootopia, drilled so readily into his skull that he'd deign to ignore such sound advice. The mayor seemed incredibly stern on that.

"Was worth a try anyway. I'll be back with your coffee."

He lets his bones sink into the seat the minute she'd left, only to be immediately disturbed yet again.

"What inconceivable luck…" comes the amused and rather familiar tone of a well-dressed arctic fox. Beside him is an ocelot, whose posture is sluggish by comparison, wearing a trench coat just as worn as he is, crowned by a beaten fedora and… a badge?

Creed deduces that this is likely the local detective who had donated his building for the department, and the fox is likely the mayor himself.

"You know," the detective says, "we thought we'd have to drag you out of the fanfare just to get a word in edgewise with you and your _adoring_ fans from the station but…" he laughs to himself, "here you are. Godsent and," he looks Creed up and down, sighting the stiffness in his bones and the bags under his eyes, "by the looks of it, just as tired as we are."

Creed shrugs. "My morning was rather abrupt and the drive… arduous, I'd say. I'm mostly just surprised I didn't collapse on the wheel."

The fox looks away shyly for a moment, a little embarrassed perhaps for bringing him here on such short notice. Though they had informed Creed of the news months ahead, the public was all too keen on getting their new sheriff early before the offices were even finished. "I'm terribly sorry about that, by the way. We were given some rather pressing and… _unforeseeable_ demands."

"Think nothing of it," Creed dismisses quickly. "In the very least I'm glad I'm out of that city." He'd already bid his goodbyes, half-awake and half-sober some of them might have been, but the city won't miss him, only very specific people will and that, honestly, is more than enough for him.

"Oh?" the fox intones, glancing at the mimicked gaze of his companion. "I'm sorry, I was under the impression that you _liked_ Zootopia."

"Oh, I still do. I just don't think it liked _me_ very much, as sordid histories tend to do." He looks between them then, confusing them with his cautious apprehension lingering beneath his still steady gaze. "You _are_ informed of my past, aren't you?"

The detective chuckles, leaning into the table. "We've been thoroughly assured that you've left that life behind, if that isn't absolutely clear already."

Creed sighs sadly, the shadow of his self-doubt lingering beneath his frosted breath. "I regret to inform you that that is not _entirely_ true… My past has come to shape me, and to say that I have left it all behind would be akin to lying. So no, I'm not entirely a changed man, but I hope we can work together regardless." There is no pleading in his eyes, searching only for an understanding between them with the hard truth placed before them. Creed doesn't like pretending to be something else, it isn't – and never will be – how he operates. Transparency, through and through, so if they're uncomfortable with that, he has no business being their sheriff.

"Glad to hear it," says the detective, rather proudly, the hint of relief evident in the way he leans back into his seat.

Creed blinks at him, and then at the smiling fox. "I'm… a little unclear. Does it not bother you at all?"

"We're glad to have your honesty, Creed," says the fox. "Personally speaking, anything else would have had us suspicious still, but you seem like the genuine article." The fox sips his tea. "So I think we'll get along swimmingly."

He almost makes to thank them for their open-mindedness but then he realizes that he doesn't actually know their names. He'd only ever heard the secretary's over the phone, but not the mayor. "Forgive me, I… didn't quite get your names,"

"Detective Taepur," the ocelot says. "Friends call me _Typer,_ but that would be a matter of preference on your part."

"And I'm Glenwell Greycastle," says the arctic fox. "I'm the mayor's secretary. Sorry I couldn't introduce myself over the phone. We had a rather hectic morning."

Creed could almost slap himself for jumping to conclusions. He'd all but assumed the woman over the line was the secretary but… it seems like she was the mayor. "I'm terribly sorry, I… I had thought you were the mayor."

"Don't worry about it," he replies easily. "Ani, the _actual_ mayor, is very hard to offend. I doubt an honest mistake would ruffle her furs."

She introduced herself as Anita to him over the phone. If he's using a nickname to address his superior, there might be something more between them. "I'm assuming you two are quite close?"

"She's my wife, actually."

Creed gives them another look of genuine surprise, and Typer raises a brow at the whole thing. "I think it's weird that no one's told you anything about the people here," he says. "Why did no one brief you?"

The polar bear notes the lines along his skin, and finally he can see the age of the ocelot well passed his groomed fur. He'd all but assumed the man was around his own age in the very least, but it seems that Typer is actually far older.

"I wasn't even given directions," Creed responds, "I only just happened to know where this place already was. I had almost assumed the letter I received was a fake were it not for that phone call."

A tall brown puma stands beside them suddenly, his notes at the ready and his gaze irate and serious. Glen and Typer raise quizzical brows at the man, but Creed only sighs.

Typer leans in to catch the man's attention. "Excuse me, sir? Can we… help you?" The ocelot squints analytically at the puma. Typer clearly doesn't want to waste time trying to figure this guy out, so he decides to just make fun of him instead. "Do you speak English? Are you… literate somehow?"

Glen palms his forehead, sighing at the way his quarry is thoroughly enjoying himself with their intense and unwelcome guest.

"Mister Creed!" the puma says suddenly, scaring the wits out of Glen. "I am Loris Gilmore from the Zootopian Courier, and I believe whole-heartedly that you should be transparent with the people of this town as well as Zootopia itself! But I am not here to demand a platform for which you may speak, only to offer it, as denying this would only force me to fall back on established assumptions about you…!"

He continues to monologue then, and his pompous tone makes Glen twitch, but Typer amuses himself with the sight, confusing his friend. Glen finds Typer's gaze is affixed entirely on Creed, and the polar bear seems barely bothered by him at all, clearly considering this one-sided conversation an utter waste of his time.

Creed blinks for barely a second to look at them before returning to the puma and his thousand-words-a-minute garble.

"…so it would be in your best interest to take me up on my offer!" the puma finally finishes, not even gasping for air after that single-breathed speech. His expression, however, stays the same as he squints angrily still.

Creed knows Loris, and has effectively avoided him for the duration of his stay at Zootopia, but now that he's here, he no longer has locked doors to hide behind or a case to excuse himself for. But he takes this unique opportunity to perhaps rid himself of this cretin once and for all.

In a single motion, he deftly cuffs the puma to the leg of the table.

It takes all of them a moment to fully realize what just happened, and the reporter is the first to react. "W-what!?"

Creed shrugs. "You're under arrest," he says plainly.

He tugs at the cuffs, trying to pull free of them. "On what charges?"

"Harassment." Creed doesn't raise his voice, maintaining a matter-of-factly attitude that dejects entirely from the sheer, vivid panic of the reporter. "You're clearly only out to slander me and have chosen a place far too public, and _entirely_ too early in the morning."

"You can't do this!"

He looks the pair with a wide grin. "Can't I?" He laughs. "In case you haven't noticed, Mr. Gilmore, I'm officially the sheriff of this town. And if that isn't clear enough for you, allow me to simplify…" He leans in, meeting his eyes haughtily, "… _I am the law here._ "

Loris mumbles incoherently, further still when Creed's paw audibly extends its claws over the table's edge, entirely much too close to his arms.

Then the cuffs unlock and he falls to his rump.

He blinks as he rubs his suddenly freed wrist before looking up at Creed, his cocky grin permeating over him like a menacing miasma. Then Creed leans back into his seat, not even facing him when he speaks, being far more interested about the arrival of his coffee than some irate, self-servient reporter. "I believe it would be in your best interest to take a vacation." He sips his coffee, relishing in the taste, much to the amusement of the ocelot waitress. "Preferably elsewhere, wouldn't you agree?"

Loris then quickly scrambles to his feet before bolting through the door.

"Shit!" the waitress intones. "He didn't pay!"

Before she can run after him, the detective grabs her by the wrist. "Hey, kiddo, don't worry about it. I'll take care of his bill, alright?"

She doesn't make to argue, sighing as she concedes. "Fine, fine. Thanks, Dad."

Creed immediately offers to cover in his instead since he's the one who scared the guy off but Typer is adamant about doing it anyway. It's then that he begins praising Creed for "not taking shit from nobody". He feels a sense of camaraderie with them and considers that maybe he'll truly start to love this place after all.

By the end of it all, they decide to head to City Hall together where he is then met with the thorough fanfare of the deputies. Many of them are really just interested in his relationship with Sam and Bogo, and very few are actually aware of what he does. Regardless, the majority of the guests at the welcoming party are mostly dazzled by the city of another man. On the outset he appears none too remarkable but everything from his English accent – which, to them is rather posh despite being rigid and gruff – down to his old beat-up Valiant, is so outside of their quiet little bubble down here that they marvel at the idea that he at least appears foreign to boot.

Creed struggles with the stereotyping some of them let slip. And though he tolerates it, he can't help but feel the twinge of irritation still.

Once the party actually starts and everyone is busy with the dance floor and all the eating, he quietly slips out into the garden which is already halfway from being demolished into a parking lot. Still, he finds himself a pair of back-to-back benches to sit down on.

He sighs, eyes skyward as he leans into the backrest, begging the heavens for some relief from this, but there is no answer in the stagnant air, only the muffled sound of music inside. "Maybe they're not _so_ bad," he says, "I could get used to them, surely."

"Delude yourself into thinking they're something they're not, and you'll only end up disappointed," comes a feminine voice from behind.

"You're certainly optimistic," he replies sarcastically.

She laughs, a voice dipped in honey, but quiet like the soft hum under a snowy night. "I'm a realist, Hun. It puts things in perspective and, frankly, looks like you'll need a bit of it."

He doesn't face her, whomever she is, and he honestly couldn't care less for it at this point. But she speaks so easily, in a manner that he envies. "Then what am I supposed to do? These people will be my charges and my subordinates. But I certainly can't work if they're being overbearing." His tone is pleading, his bravado lost in his thirst to forget everything.

"Then be honest with them."

He laughs dejectedly, shaking his head. "If you haven't heard, I'm not exactly the kindest person when I'm honest. I tend to scare people away and… well it will do more harm than good, I assure you."

"Maybe." She does share in his dejection or his woes, her voice still languid, almost wise. "You never know how people will react. And, shoot, if you're trying to make everyone like you, you'll just keep struggling with yet another impossible expectation. You can do everything right and people will still find reason to dislike you. I say you stop caring about whether or not they'll snap or run away in fear and just do your job the way you need to."

Then, suddenly, he can feel her sit on the bench beside him, shifting the weight of the seat underneath him. "Besides," she continues, "I happen to think their subjective opinions, baseless or otherwise, mean nothing in the face of your objective labors. You'll make results, and they can snarl and scream all they want, but you'll ultimately keep doing good anyway."

He turns to her then, finding another polar bear with a tiny, pleasant smile to her. Covered in the comfiest sweater he's ever seen. She reaches out to him, pulls him to his feet. "Relax a little, yeah?" she says.

And suddenly Creed realizes that Chopin is being played, and the dulcet rhythmic tones from whomever is doing the cover does him well to relax, even more so in her presence.

Which gives her an idea.

Wordlessly, she takes him to grass littering the garden and he dances with her. "You're stiff," he says, her awkward stance dispelling her magic, letting him laugh.

She rolls her eyes playfully. "I'm a pianist, not a dancer."

"I could teach you," he offers.

Her smile widens. "That would be lovely."

"Forgive me, I haven't been much myself all day… I didn't catch your name."

"Mona. My name's Mona Mellivora. And yours?"

"Cre — Denzel… Denzel Creed."

**~o~~~~o~**

In a high-rise apartment deep in the heart of Sahara Square, Gizelle Ripple paces anxiously over her carpeted floor beneath the pale light of a rainy afternoon. She is pensive and cannot stay in place, shaking her head as she reads through reports only to throw them back onto her coffee table in frustration.

She pivots, suddenly gets an idea, then immediately rejects it, burying her face in her hands in as she extends an annoyed grunt. " **Ugh~!** "

She chews on her hoofed finger as she contemplates further but the ideas don't come, a blockade somewhere in her mind that refuses to give way.

The papers on the table seem to haunt her, plague her with a hint of something lingering amidst its pages. A secret she doesn't yet understand… but it feels so _close,_ as if it's just within reach.

If only she could actually get a grasp of it.

A sudden ring of her doorbell catches her by surprise, causing a shudder of excitement to burrow into her as she bolts for the door, nearly tripping on the coffee table with her thin, clumsy legs.

The door practically _flies_ open, much to the chagrin of the mildly terrified Liandra Hunt. "Jesus Christ, girl!"

Gizelle doesn't bother to respond, skipping right ahead to business. "Did you bring it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." She huffs at the gazelle as she enters the doorway. "You're lucky I decided to pack it. You'd have made me toss it over the railing by accident." An turns to face her as she shuts the door, crossing her arms as she looks at the jittery gazelle up and down. "Hey, calm down," she says quietly, softening her gaze.

Gizelle, in response, loses the tenseness in her muscles, shaking her head. "I'm sorry… It's just been a busy few weeks and I still don't have everything."

An sighs and takes her by the waist, ushering her to her own sofa to plop them both onto it. "Look, Zel, you'll be fine out there."

"I'm not nervous, An, I'm… ugh!" She nearly tears out her hair, hiding behind a pillow which she screams into. "I'm sorry… I don't mean to be so… difficult." She says almost with a snarl, clearly angry at herself. Under normal circumstances, Gizelle would have been timid but these past few weeks have made her irate, but no less apologetic.

"Quit being sorry," An says, nudging her playfully before taking away the pillow she's hiding behind. "Just…" another sigh, "tell me what's wrong."

Gizelle stares drearily at the reports scattered over her coffee table, theories and speculations, findings and almost-truths, altogether so thick that it's almost the size of a technical manual! And all of it spans only a week of investigation… but it feels like a lifetime. "There's something off about the case, I know it! There's another dimension to this, something the police aren't talking about."

"Yeah," An leans back into her with a slight scowl running over her cheek, "Terry hasn't spilled the beans about what he saw either, said it ' _wasn't important_ '." Then An raises a brow and tilts her head, suddenly remembering a peculiar detail. "Wait a minute, aren't you interviewing Nick and Judy next week?"

"I can't wait that long! If I can find out now, I need to. If they avoid the topic, I can push for it if I already knew." Gizelle's stern expression wins her over, clearly having been far more affected by this case than she thought.

An shrugs. "It's not like I'm here to argue or anything..."

"Good, then let's get started."

The wolf takes her sling bag off before pulling out an overflowing binder of photocopied documents. "The original case file… you really think we'll find anything different?"

"Maybe… maybe not. But I know where to start." Gizelle peels away at the papers, aiming directly at the bottom of the stack… the first kidnapping.

An looks quizzically at the girl. "Raeger Hector? The first victim?"

"Mhm." Gizelle is transfixed on the paper, unable to look away as she absorbs all the details she can, but she forces herself away to regard her quarry, wanting to bring her up to speed. "I know this is gonna sound crazy but…" she trails off, not quite sure how to gauge her.

An rolls her hands, urging her to proceed. "But…?"

Gizelle glances back at the papers, going over the details for only a second in the hopes that her theory might be immediately dispelled so she doesn't have to say it, but it holds true anyway.

"I'm not entirely convinced that Marcus killed his own brother."

**~̵̨́͟͞~҉~̸̴͢͢o̵̧̢͢0̴Ò̶̶͜0̨̢̡͜͢ó͏̷͡͠~̢̛͡͞~̵̴̨͞~̷̴͢**

_I love my family. They're all I need, and all I've got. Sure I could go out there and find myself a woman, but… why look for love when you already have so much? I don't need nuthin' else from the world. Just let me watch my brother grow old with his wife, let me see my nephew turn into a fine young man, and I'll live the rest of my days happier than any married man._

_~Raeger Hector, from a conversation in an officer's report when the man was arrested after a bar fight with the Kayman's top baker, Rios, over whose bakery was better. They later made up and continued drinking together, the officer soon joining_

**~̴̵̡̢͝~̕͝~̨̡̕ơ̵͟͝͝0̕͏̧͏͢O҉̷͏̶͡0̢̕͢ǫ҉̴̢~̸̡͠͡~̴̨͞~**

The smell of a swamp is typically rather appalling, the heated breath of some moist earth and dying plant life churning like some witch's cauldron across the great expanse of its woodland like a curse, but the Hectors have taken the scent with some obscure sense of security, as if the scent itself is every indication that they're in a dangerous part of the swamp: the ever familiar and continually conquered Hunting Grounds.

And yet, when they come across a clearing where the wind's strength wanes and the stench gone with it, a sense of overwhelming alertness washes over them still, stronger than before the trek. The serenity in the clearing is much more menacing to them, the veritable calm before the storm.

Perhaps they're overcautious, but they've been hunting in this swamp for longer than some of their Hunting Club have been alive, and they're all old enough to legally own a firearm.

The two men heft some supplies at their backs, their trusty shotguns looped over their necks on their straps. Once at the dock beside the murky swamp lake, they set down their bags.

"Smell that, Marcus?" Raeger says, sniffing the air with a mischievous grin, "it's the smell o' danger."

"Don't get too excited, Raeger." Marcus takes a whiff of the air himself and catches something vile downwind through the treeline. "There's the smell o' death somewhere…"

Raeger eyes the lake with a weary gaze, curious of its stillness, the waters so stagnant it almost feels empty. The only two rafts sitting on the dock, a pair of rubber ones that are mysteriously inflated, are accounted for so it seems that no one has died in the water.

"Gators got a fresh meal somewhere? What do you think they caught?" he asks, following his brother out of the clearing.

Marcus scans the floor and finds an oddity amongst some bloodied branches. He holds up a blue feather for his brother to see, the ominous thing glistening where the splotch of blood streaks down the cool azure texture. "A blue jay," he says.

Raeger raises a brow. "They ain't native, they wouldn't travel downwind o' this stench, and there ain't none in the Whitewood's aviary." He shakes his head, giving his brother a sad tilt of his lip. "So it oughta' be someone's pet."

Marcus sighs. "That's unfortunate."

Raeger takes the feather, careful not to touch the blood, inspecting it from both sides. "Can't have been far though. Blood ain't dry and neither is the pointy end o' this thing. A fresh pluck is what it is."

"If that's so, then likely he set up camp somewhere. Place is too far from the road to otherwise be from a vehicle." Marcus says, looking at his compass to reorient himself. He knows that there is a clearing through here where the forest starts and the swamp ends, so it's likely there. "You remember that clearin' you used to talk about, the one North-West o' here? You know the way to it, right?"

"Sure 'nough," Raeger shrugs smugly, taking the lead. "Found an old rusty pike there once, dug into the dirt with some initials on 'em. A landmark o' sorts. So I'm thinkin' it might be the same folk who plugged it in in the first place."

Marcus would have called it a stretch but the clearing is off-road and is easiest to get through via the swamp clearing, which isn't a very popular tourist spot. The pike means that at least _someone_ found it, and if so few people know about the place, then Marcus isn't about to argue his brother's point.

Their feet crunch against twigs beneath them in audible snaps, intending to leave a trail for someone to find if they ever get lost. It's unlikely, given their experience with the place, but they're not about to take their chances.

Marcus looks again at the feather Raeger twists between his fingers, the blood drying as its excess falls harmlessly against the dirt below. That poor blue jay… if it was here as a tag along with the owner or was simply released into the wild, then death by gator on the day of its arrival seems like an incredibly cruel twist of fate. He honestly hopes that it's actually unharmed and the blood is from some other source, but the ruffling of the feather indicates a struggle, so chances are low.

He audibly sighs at the thought, making his brother turn to him. Marcus looks up to him then, quickly confused by his brother's sudden wide-eyed gaze.

Raeger reacts faster than Marcus can analyze what's going on. In an instant he's pushed passed him, his shotgun swinging downward towards an oncoming gator from behind. The barrel slips into the reptiles powerful jaws, but before it could clamp, the weapon fires, ruining the animal's insides as it slumps.

Marcus's heart is racing but he is far more angry than he is afraid. The dead creature makes no sounds when he kicks it, daring it to try again if it's still alive, his own weapon just about ready to kill it if it tried.

Raeger pats his back. "You owe me, little brother."

Marcus scoffs playfully, walking off. "I'll put it on your tab."

"A life is priceless," Raeger replies, sidling up to him, "so that means I get free reign o' your kitchen for life."

"Don't push your luck, Rae. I still need to feed this family, and I can't do that if you just eat everythin' on the shelves." Marcus makes to leave but as he lifts his foot, he hears a crack beneath him. He steps back to reveal the now broken compass, causing the usually reserved man to lose some of his cool again and silently curse.

Raeger worries after him, electing to soothe the rising frustration of his kin. "Hey, don't fret. I know the way back so it'll be alright."

His brother's peculiar ability to differentiate trees and branches to lead them anywhere has always been reliable, so Marcus decides to place his trust in his brother with a resigned nod.

It takes a little longer than Marcus expects to get there. Nearly half an hour's walk doesn't seem nearly as close as Raeger first said it would be, but then again, this is a man who considers the trek from home all the way to the Rogue's Gallery on the other side of town as a "quick drink".

Once they breach the treeline, they spot an RV on one end of the oblong clearing, smoke billowing from behind it in a waning grey plume. The air smells of fresh dew aloft wet grass, a welcome scent that would have accented the sight were the ground not littered with wide patches of dry dirt, making the area almost look ugly.

Raeger stares confused at the RV, then shifting between it and the treeline. "Now how on earth did someone manage to get a whole RV through the forest? There ain't enough space between them trees for all this!"

Marcus shrugs. "If there's a will, there's a way." Personally he thinks that whomever did probably cleared a path somehow, but it seems like a lot of work for a camping spot. But then again, the town itself is isolated in and of itself, and to find further isolation all but guarantees personal solace.

He thinks that perhaps he should find a space like this. A place where even his brother won't know about.

His eyes turn skyward to the plume of smoke again, billowing in the empty sky. His brother watches it too and gives him a concerned look before glancing elsewhere.

"Fire's still burnin'," Marcus points out, "strong too, so it ain't a dwindlin' flame."

Raeger almost doesn't hear him as he squints at the other end of the oblong clearing, the faint sight of the rusted pike lingering in the distance still.

Marcus walks passed his brother who quickly follows suit. "Hello!?" he calls out once, then twice. His brother tries for the third but there is still no response for them.

Raeger is about to point out how strange it is but Marcus jogs ahead, prompting him to follow.

They make it to the fire place and see a set of five plastic chairs, two for moderately sized adults and three for children. Judging from the coloration and _his_ then _hers_ scrawled onto the adult seats, it's clear that it's a family.

But none of them appear to be here.

A set up awning off the RV, a still burning fire with a careful arrangement of stones around it, and a barely finished tent tells them that they were here recently.

Marcus finds his mirrored caution etched carefully over his brother's features, trying to appear stoic like he is. Though it is still entirely possible that they just went out to find a lake or something and left their things here, confident that no one would ever find it, but the thought is optimistic, and they already had a bad feeling about it.

 _Something is wrong here,_ and it's clearly more than just a dead blue jay and a possible fire hazard.

Marcus makes for the RV while Raeger makes for the tent.

On his way, Raeger finds a ready bucket filled with water, and uses it to quickly put out the unattended fire. But then he takes a peculiar look at the bucket and thinks the worst… cause a family ready with a way to put out the fire would certainly know not to leave it unattended. Sparing a glance at the leaning half-finished tent, its almost dug-in stakes and haphazard yet somehow stable guy lines, all indicating that a child tried to set it up with some middling success.

It's a family that is, in the very least, experienced in camping... so negligence is almost foolishly unlikely.

The RV's door swinging open might not have normally drawn his attention away from the tent he's meaning to investigate, but the way his brother vocally flinches at whatever's inside certainly does.

He runs towards him, but Marcus turns to him with a look that is barely concerned himself. "Don't worry, it just smells like someone didn't flush…"

Marcus climbs into the RV and finds a deep darkness cloaking the inside. He flicks on a light but finds that only the one above them is operable. He might have chalked it up to age, but his hand runs along the upholstery of the booth inside, and there are no cracks nor discoloring to indicate such detrimental age; the seats themselves barely seem worn either.

Marcus turns to the light pouring out of the front windows and sees a small hand slumped on the armrest of the driver's seat. "Hey, kid, you alright over there?"

No response… so he fears the worst. And yet, he dares to hope, calling out to the child again.

He is hesitant still, not quite sure if he is ready to see him, but Marcus pours his resolve into pushing himself forward, heart racing and hands sweating, he reaches for the backrest and pulls himself to the front.

First he notices the stench, but the sight is far more grisly. Seated at the driver's seat is a young buck slumped against the wall, absent eyes staring listlessly at the cracked glass beside him, a hole through his head that splatters gore against the seat beneath him.

Raeger nearly hurls when he sees it, taking a step back and away from the scene.

Marcus takes a careful look at it, head tilting to see the splatter against the seat again. Judging from his position, he didn't see the shot coming. And judging from the angle of the gore and the bullet hole, he was clearly shot by someone taller than him.

Marcus turns back to tell his brother but Raeger is already at the other side of the RV, eyes locked onto the limp body of another child, a tiny fawn too young to speak words, lying flush against the far back atop a slept-in bed, a pillow over the child's head to muffle the bullet that clearly rung through him.

He approaches his quivering brother, reaching out to rest a hand against his quaking shoulder—

—but then a metallic thud shocks them both.

Their eyes lock for a moment, before adjusting to a door jutting from the RV's wall: the toilet.

Marcus opens the door and enters, the darkness of the room washing over him with a sense of weary dread, like tendrils of some otherworldly forbearance, telling him what he'll see… and when he finds it, it actually comes as no surprise.

He stands there, shaking his head at the figure lying slump against the wall, seated over the toilet.

Raeger comes in and flicks the light on, nearly gasping at what he sees.

The mother, a doe no older than thirty, stares down at the tiled floor, a bullet hole straight through her head. No pillow this time. She's sitting on the cover here too, so she wasn't caught off guard, she was led here.

"There's tears…" Marcus points out, noting the dampened fur and shirt that runs down her thin cheeks.

Raeger shakes his head at the sight, fighting back the upchuck he's sure will come sooner or later. Instead he focuses on her form, and notices the bruising on her wrists… but her arms are folded neatly over her lap. "She struggled, fought back, but… not here. Her fightin' died in this room for some reason…"

"She accepted death," Marcus adds grimly, "but why?"

"The third kid maybe?" Raeger speculates. "Maybe she gave her life for the last of her kids."

Marcus wants to say that the father did it, but there's no certainty to it, nor is there any for the mother's sacrifice. Something went down here and it'll take folk much smarter than them to figure it out.

He walks out then, leaving his brother in the RV as he scans over the area, the door slowly clicking closed behind him. His eyes first latch onto the tent, its flaps billowing in the breeze, abandoned and unfinished, though still standing. He thinks of the father then, teaching his children to pitch a tent while his wife tells them to prepare water to put out the fire in an emergency… tiny, almost ignorable moments that might one day mold a child into a respectable adult.

And that future is now robbed of them.

Even if the last child survived, it's almost certain that being witness to this trauma might very well scar him for life. And in that brief moment of somber contemplation, he considers taking the child in himself, to perchance save it from such a fate.

Then his eyes catch a glimpse of something in the treeline, stumbling out of it beyond the tent. There is a goat there in a long brown cloak, body bloodied with an unsightly gash along his cheek. His eyes are desperate and pained, scanning the clearing with fearful caution.

Then his eyes fall to Marcus, and his first immediate response is to raise his pistol, the barrel's tip still dripping with blood.

And suddenly Marcus knows who shot up the family.

A great, white hot fury billows within his core, clutching his shotgun with almost enough strength to snap it. His forward stride is filled with purpose, stomping with abreast the feverish tempo of his rapid footfalls.

The goat tries to warn him that he'll shoot if he comes any closer, but Marcus knows that this murderer would have fired already if the gun was even loaded.

As expected, the cloaked goat discards the empty weapon as he sprints in the opposite direction, weaving through the trees in some feeble attempt to outpace him and lose him in the thicket.

But Marcus is fast and the great strength in his legs propel him faster and further than the goat could ever hope to match.

He dares to glance back at Marcus and sees the fury in his eyes, the unkempt anger searing through his frame makes him look like imminent death. So the goat dares to push further even as the strength in his already aching legs feels about ready to buckle and fail him.

Marcus sees the goat pick up the pace, and though he is certain that he has the stamina to outlast him, he isn't about to take any chances. He levels his shotgun, aiming down at the man's legs. His breathing is uneven, trying to sputter screams of some otherworldly wrath in attempt to articulate his blinding ire.

Then he holds his breath… and pulls the trigger.

The buckshot tears through his cloak, scattering bits of cloth and gore along the detritus that litter the floor, and immediately the goat stumbles into a tree, head slamming into the bark to cut another gash over his forehead.

He doesn't even have a moment to gasp as Marcus is on him in the next moment, turning him around and pressing him against the tree, grabbing him by the neck as the goat tries to claw at Marcus's large fingers, trying feebly to escape.

"Why did you do it!?" Marcus demands, loosening his choke to let him speak.

"Imanidre Patre!" the goat manages to gasp, ignoring the pain in his torn leg to stare down the devil in his eyes.

Marcus doesn't like the response, dropping his weapon to take both hands to his neck. "In English!"

He loosens his grip again, and the goat finds enough purchase to manage a response after some inhaling. "Th-they were sinners! The man and the woman, th-they're not even married! Their children are bastards to that unholy union."

Marcus's grip loosens ever so slightly as the man before him suddenly appears so… sure of himself. He wholly believes what he's saying, he truly believed they deserved to die. "The Father has no place for such sinners!" He no longer stutters, his steely gaze meeting Marcus with some estranged hope that he'll understand. "They will burn in hell for their adultery as will their children. You're a holy man, aren't you? You can see that they needed to die for such trespasses."

Marcus's shock vanishes in the next moment, comprehending the man's sheer madness, and the slit of his eyes return, a righteous fury releases one hand to ball it into a fist. "The good Lord has no place for the likes of you."

A good swift punch across the goat's unopened cheek gives him some middling satisfaction.

The man then spits blood on Marcus's face, spouting some Latin insult before he's elbowed in the temple, knocking him out.

Marcus eyes the man below him then, and quells his ire before he does something he'll regret. Because even though he has no qualms with injuring the man, killing him would be going too far.

He takes his empty shotgun and loads it just in case, then glances back down at the deranged goat, sighs, then hoists him onto his shoulder.

His eyes are deadpan then, cold calculating efficiency filling his addled mind with clarity

He first thinks that he should bind him with the rope from the tent and get his brother to run out and get the authorities. But then he shakes his head.

This man is clearly a cultist of sorts, and he likely didn't come here alone. And who knows how many more are out there in the woods?

Come to think of it, he didn't see the father buck of the family… he's probably out there with the rest of the cultists for some insane ritual. But then he realizes that the gash in the man's cheek and the fact that he was already covered in blood perhaps means that the father might have either fought his way through them or died fighting them off.

A part of Marcus hopes that the buck managed to kill some of them off before he had to go down, but he shakes the grim thought away.

He emerges from the clearing then, eying the tent as he approaches.

He takes his hunting knife out of his rear pocket and cuts out the rear and front guy line which apparently were only for reinforcement as the whole thing is still holding together, as haphazardly as it is. But then the front flaps billow against a strong wind, revealing the still legs of the third and final child.

Marcus sighs once more then proceeds to bind the cultist by his arms and legs. He'd have chuckled at the hogtie were the situation not so dire.

He walks out towards the RV. "Rae!" His brother doesn't respond. Then he realizes that the door to the RV is open.

He almost makes to enter the RV but then his head twists to look over the area. Immediately his keen eyes spot the glint of his brother's shotgun leaning against a distant tree. Running towards it, he notices the trail of intentionally snapped twigs weaving into the forest towards the swamp.

He takes the gun beside his own and then follows the trail slowly at first before jogging through the forest. "Alright, Raeger, where ya' taken me?"

It is not long until the smell of the swamp fills the air… quickly followed by the distant tail-end of a shout.

He recognizes it as Raeger's, then he bolts through the trees, making a beeline to the familiar dock of the Hunting Grounds.'

The desperate screaming of his brother continues even as he breaks the treeline, spotting Raeger on one of the rafts in the middle of the swamp's lake.

Ahead of him, however, is a stag covered in blood, paddling his way to the center of the lake. He mumbles things, glancing back at Raeger and then Marcus before turning his eyes forward.

"Get back here!" Raeger shouts desperately. "This ain't the way!" He then turns back to his brother standing restlessly on the dock, searching for a way to get to them. "Marcus! Watch the water fer' gators!"

He nods in response, loading his weapon and checking his brother's. Both shotguns at the ready, he stands as far out onto the dock as he can, kneeling to aim down the lake.

Raeger pours all his strength into paddling, trying to cut through the water faster than the buck before him, but the man's taut arms prove more capable, and Raeger pulls dangerously behind. But then there is a glimmer of hope as the man stops suddenly… only to realize that it's only because gators have begun to swarm his area.

There is some fearful hesitation there when Raeger stops himself, not sure what to do at this point as he leans out and calls for the buck again. "Hey!"

Then the buck steadies himself into a stand, an amazing sense of control in his legs as he looks out at them. "I'm a sinner! I deserve this! I'm sorry!"

Raeger can only describe the stag's expression as serene, at peace, but it is fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, the man falls backward into the water, vanishing beneath the surface as the gators dive down with him.

There is only a moment of thrashing over the water's surface, and then the silence permeates. And for a second it feels like what they just witnessed was only a passing nightmare, a glimpse of some otherworldly madness too surreal to have actually happened.

And yet it did.

" **Rae!** " Marcus's call snaps Raeger back into reality in time to grab his paddle before a gator grabs it.

Panicked eyes glance over the raft's edges, finding the predators lurking just beneath the murky water.

He plunges his ore into the water just behind the tail of one of the gators, trying to avoid striking them for fear of earning their ire. But this caution causes him to slow down, furthering his panic as he realizes just how far he is from the dock.

Marcus's own panic rises as he sees the gators swarm around the raft, one in particular being exceptionally aggressive as it bumps the front of the raft continuously.

And then it tries to climb the raft.

Raeger curses as he sees it, beating it with his ore. "Marcus! Shoot it!"

Weapon at the ready, Marcus aims at the aggressive creature, cursing silently as he pulls the trigger.

He manages to cleave through it with the buckshot, letting it fall off the raft, but at a price. The reinforced raft has some holes in it now, and though Raeger breathes a sigh of relief before paddling further, it's clear to both of them that the raft is gonna give soon.

Marcus knew this was going to happen, and can only sit and watch as his brother struggles to reach the dock. And by some miracle he gets close, just a scant few feet from the dock's edge so he springs into action and holds out his brother's gun, gripping it by the barrel so he can grab it by the stock.

Raeger inches closer and it seems that the gators are realizing that their prey is about to escape, and so they up the ante and ram the underside of the raft. And though it does nothing to capsize it, it does however manage to squelch out more of the air.

Before it starts to flatten Raeger decides to just go for it and stands up. He then sways his body back and forth, and with a final huff, he jumps.

His hands reach out for the stock, and he manages an able grip as he tries to scramble up the dock.

Marcus almost breathes a sigh of relief that mirrors the look on his brother's face, but suddenly Raeger's face twists in horror as he screams.

Marcus scrambles to pull his brother in and takes him in his arms, but then he looks down his back to see the wounded gator from earlier – body still littered with buckshot – clamping down its powerful jaws over Raeger's lower half.

Quickly, Marcus pulls out his shotgun, aims down its head, and the release of the trigger sends his world tumbling back into the dock as the gator's head erupts, effectively killing it and releasing his brother.

He takes only a brief moment of respite to catch his breath before he gently lays his brother down.

Marcus feels relief wash over him, quelling his nerves, but it immediately vanishes at the sound of his brother's gasping, the deep undulation of his throat burning out of him as the scream that erupts from his lips seems to ignite the air.

All Marcus feels is vivid panic as he stares down his brother's lower half… only to find that it is almost entirely missing.

Raeger is attached to nothing but a stump, bleeding profusely along the wooden boards as if to paint it. His pain is overwhelming, washing over Marcus as he stares weary-eyed at his dying kin.

And then the screaming stops.

Marcus feels it too unreal, as if he'd awaken to the end of a nightmare any moment now, but that moment never comes, made all the more clear as he feels his brother's hand lay gently over his.

Raeger's panting dies out – perhaps numbing himself from the pain – as he lies back and stares into the sky, head tilting ever so slightly in his brother's direction. "Marcus," he manages between still ragged breaths. "Marcus," he repeats again, trying to dispel the frantic darting of his brother's gaze, halting finally at the easing expression of his brother. "Look, I ain't… ngh… I ain't gonna make it. No time fer' a… tourniquet."

Marcus wants to argue that there is perhaps still some chance he could save him, but his pragmatism squashes any such feeble hope. But even though his mind is wholly accepting of the situation, there is still that lingering sense of suspended disbelief. _How could things have gone so terribly?_

Raeger tries to wiggle his feet but he can barely feel his waist anymore either, and his hands don't even dare to find out where the rest of him ends. Marcus himself stays his hand, leaning over his brother as he struggles to find some miracle where there will be none.

"Marcus… I… guh…! I can't… I can't let Marshal… see me like this." He twists his head, rolling the back of it against some uneven boards just to get his body to feel _some_ sensation, even furling and unfurling his fingers in a frail attempt to clench a fist. "Just… let it end, brother." He tries to put on a strong face for Marcus but the pain in his eyes is obvious, far more prominent on him than a weak, tiny smile.

"Just snuff the lights out…" He's getting lightheaded, drifting in and out of consciousness. "Tell…"

"Rae?" Marcus manages as his mouth remains agape.

"Tell Marshal…" Raeger almost passes out as he struggles to speak, gasping and wheezing. "Tell him I died… a hero…"

Raeger's body goes still. Whether or not he's still alive, Marcus is too lost to tell, but it's a pointless detail. One that doesn't change what needs to be done.

Something in Marcus snaps then, his face going numb with some overwhelming sensation, losing his sense of control as he stands over his brother's body and moves away to take his shotgun and load it with a single buckshot. He feels as if his body is moving on its own, like he is a passenger who will soon witness the unspeakable.

But then his fingers twitch as they rap against the barrel, reminding him that he is still in control… that his body is still his own. Making whatever follows, entirely on him.

He isn't sure if his brother is unconscious or not, but he knows that suspending his torment on the off chance that he wakes up would be a fate worse than death.

He leans down one more time and whispers in his brother ear. "Rae…" he says with a stifled choke, bleeding his sorrow out for only a moment before steeling himself, "tell Ma and Pa I miss 'em…"

And so, with a raised barrel pressing against his brother's forehead, he shuts his eyes after he deludes himself into thinking that the crest of Raeger's lips is a smile, burning the memory of it behind his lids as he finds the strength to finally pull the trigger.

**~͟͟~̨̡͜͡~̡̀͞ǫ̛̀0̷̷͟͠Ơ̸̶̕͠0̸̴̧̨͢ǫ̶̛~̴͡~҉̶̷̢͠~͠**

Marcus watches the fire dance before him, burning the still mess that is what remains of his brother beneath the snug wrappings of the tent's cotton fabric. He poured all he could to burn it quick, all the gasoline from the RV and its spares as well as some potassium nitrate he found, a bottle of it that is only half full, likely used to clear stumps that blocked the elusive road the father used to get here. Beneath the body itself is a large grill cage meant to hold the body and beneath that is a clay pot meant to catch his brother's ashes.

These items, however, all tell the story of a vacation a loving family intended to have. Perhaps bogged by some erstwhile stress or simply to bond with the family again, the father carved through a forest to a clearing he stumbled upon in his youth when he first laid that pike in the ground to mark it in his personal history. Quaint and faraway, there is that sense that all they wanted was to escape the city… only to fall into the maw of some derelict fanatic.

His eyes are drawn to the cultist bundled by the fire, lulled still in unconsciousness as the cool breeze of the late afternoon air brushes through his fur, the last dainty caress he'll ever feel from the On High. Beset along his cheek is the same curious gash, untreated and perhaps starting to pus, but he couldn't care less for God's witless, self-righteous mistakes, the same godless maniacs who thought his Lord had asked them to kill hundreds of thousands of innocents on the ludicrous idea that they were heretics or "witches". Marcus cannot stand for their kind, cannot bare to look at them with anything other than disdain.

And perhaps he might have pondered by what overwhelming and otherworldly force had driven this one man to murder a family and force the father to commit suicide… but then he realizes that the man's only true injury aside from the shrapnel buried in his leg is only the gash… _and the stag was covered in blood._ His eyes trace the treeline as he watches the gaps fade into stagnant darkness, squinting at the shadows with caution with his shotgun clutched in his fist. " _He wasn't alone,_ " he thinks. " _More in the forest somewhere…_ " More madmen, lunatics who delude themselves into thinking that their crusade is righteous.

But then he reclines into the seat, relaxing as his grip loosens. " _But they're dead or gone… they'd have come for me or the goat by now…_ " The father had harmed or killed enough to be covered in blood. So the rest are either dead, or running off into the distance in a panic, cowering before nature's mercy as forces beyond their control will most assuredly decide their fates. " _Like him._ " His eyes then turn to the cultist again, who blinks as he comes to.

Marcus rises from his seat and takes the wife's monoblock chair, dragging it along the dirt audibly before slapping into the earth behind the man, making his dreary eyes flinch.

"What…" the goat mutters, the rest of his sentence falling into obscurity.

He quickly hoists the man into the seat, letting him get his bearings as he orients his senses with the upright world.

Again he mumbles something incoherent, drowned in the slur of his returning clarity, his mind still a haze from recent events. He remembers running off into the forest, leaving his brothers behind as a mad stag charges after him, the wound in his cheek a vivid reminder of his defenselessness. He remembers running through the forest to escape… then he remembers running back to escape something else…

He screams as the pain in his leg returns, the shrapnel digging into his flesh still prodding through his meat as he moves the injured limb. His eyes draw upward as he winces, blinking at the familiar, terrifying visage now sitting across from the dancing flame between them.

Marcus's expression flickers between a sickness coiling in his stomach and an acute sense of awe… There's something in the air, actually. An allure for something he can't quite place. He thinks at first that it's the smell of autumn, but… _no, it's somethin' else._

He inhales sharply, a scent he can't quite place, his mind suddenly a haze as some otherworldly whisper is carried in the wind.

"Wh-what did you say?" the goat asks suddenly, drawing him out of his stupor. Apparently Marcus had mumbled something in his trance.

He shakes his head, turning his attention at the man before him, tilting his head at the terrified goat to thoroughly register his reaction to him.

Across the fire, it is difficult to see Marcus's expression, so the goat squints at him, blinking at the embers flitting about them.

"You see that over there, burnin' in the pyre?" Marcus asks, his voice even, but a touch bothered.

The cultist's eyes are drawn to the white form sitting in the flame, stuck in a fetal position, the silhouette of a man melting then turning to ash underneath.

"That's my brother," Marcus continues. "He's dead now, cause o' you and your… _cult._ "

The goat isn't about to pretend that he doesn't know who he is. And for a moment he thinks he can send him a strong front, but he shrinks almost immediately at the idea of being attacked again. So he instead decides to reason with him, to plead for his life somehow. "We didn't do that to him," he says.

"You didn't need to. Fact is, what you and your lot have gone and done to this family has caused a ripple that has done somethin' unspeakable to mine. And for what? Cause they got themselves kids before they got married? They surely would have done so eventually."

The goat's voice turns baleful at the thought, forgetting himself as he hisses. "It's sacrilege!" he manages through the pain. "Utterly unforgivable, regardless of the circumstances. Those who died today are "

Marcus stands then, making his way around as he takes the father's chair with him, plotting into the dirt before him. "And you think what you did in response to that was _just?_ " His tone is inquisitive, not accusatory, surprising the goat, making him ever more weary.

He finds Marcus's now stoic mien, ghosting over clenched fists rolling into his palms, and he can sense anger in them, a fury ready to exact what was taken from him. "I-I'm sorry… I didn't mean to imply that your brother-"

"Oh, I ain't mad," Marcus adds quickly, his expression ringing true despite the pensive gesturing in his fists. "I've made peace with it. My brother's dead and there's nuthin' I could do about it. All I can do is come to accept it."

Marcus's expression falters and it sends a chill down the man's spine as the cracks behind his put-upon expression unveils a semblance of something… terrifying. And it doesn't make sense to him because if it wasn't fury that drove him to shoot, interrogate, and bind him, then what was the reason? What is stoicism supposed to be there for?

The goat's voice is ragged from the pain, but he is enduring, numbing him long enough to speak. "Then what... what do you want with me?" The unknown makes him fearful as he meets the pig's steady gaze waft easily before him, leveled and stern, as if he is numb to the torment writhing before him.

Marcus's head tilts again, perhaps curious, then his eyes soften as the tension in his body falls away. "I wanted to look you in the eye, just t'… see if you've got any remorse in ya'. But frankly all I see is fear an'… _desperation._ " Marcus is easy in his tone, more matter-of-factly than anything else, and it confuses him cause it feels inconsistent. "None o' that I wanted to see. Cause it's not important. Doesn't tell me nuthin'. Well… nuthin' I could use."

"Wha-? U-use for what?"

Marcus shrugs. "T' see if I should hand you over to the authorities… or handle things myself. But you're scared, outta your gourd, and I can't rightly tell if you were an innocuous recruit in over your head or… purposely involved."

The goat can only respond with silence. _Handle things himself? What does he mean by that?_ And the thought is driven through him, hammered like a nail… because the pig has no qualms with shooting him, and doesn't even care to suture the wounds. He could die right here, right now from the disease off his injuries alone and it's likely he wouldn't care. On top of that, the shotgun resting on one of the smaller chairs reminds him that he is armed and would not hesitate to fire.

Marcus sighs, drawing his attention back to him. "Since I can't rightly decide what the best course o' action is, I'll just leave it up to you. I can't trust what you say, so I'll trust what you'll do." Marcus stands up, eying him down before producing his hunting knife, which briefly scares him as he leans over him, only to find that Marcus has cut the bindings over his wrists. And then his legs. "See, I'm going into the RV to look for a wireless phone then call the police with it. And the way I see it, if you're innocent enough, you'll stay right here and be taken in without so much as a struggle. You'll strike a deal with the police to expose the rest o' your cult to reduce your sentence. You'll still get time, but you'll be doin' the world a favor."

The pig leans over his seat then, hands firmly on the arm rests, his presence filling the air, suffocating it till it is wrought with his breath. And his eyes point menacingly at him, forcing his attention firmly on them, commanding him to be still, to listen. "The alternative, however, is that when I'm in there lookin' for a phone, you book it, runnin' fer' the hills. And part o' me hopes ya' do. Cause it's been a while since I've had a good hunt."

Marcus pushes off the seat and makes for the RV.

The goat still feels his breath, can still feel those eyes burning a hole through him. He considers that he shouldn't incur his wrath, to stay still and accept the consequences.

But can he really betray his brothers and sisters? He doesn't want to go to jail, and he might hang for what he and his people have done to this family. Or maybe he won't take the deal, maybe he'll stay in jail for his full sentence? Surely he could endure a few years, can't he?

The crackling flame retakes his gaze, and the corpse lying beneath the cotton reminds him that he is instrumental in the death of the pig's brother somehow… And perhaps the mercy he's offering is a lie.

The door to the RV shuts and he sees his opportunity present itself.

He scans the treeline as he steadily hoists himself up, adjusting himself to the injured leg. The forest is closest passed the RV, and he can use it as cover when the pig makes it out the door. He just has to break the treeline and zigzag through the woods. He can lose him.

With a huff, he stands on his injured leg, steadies his breathing, then bolts off, sprinting with a limp, pushing with all the strength he has left.

When he passes the RV, he can hear the phone beeping. He tries to be as quiet as possible without slowing down, running on the tips of his hooves as he hops along what little grass there is in this clearing.

Marcus himself watches through a window in the rear of the RV just over the bed, his face blank save for the slight upward crest of his lip that quickly vanishes. He pushes the window open as he takes his brother's shotgun off the pillows.

Quickly he slips out and lands quietly, raising his weapon. And then, with a moment of held breath, he fires.

The goat falls as his other leg is shot through… but it isn't shrapnel from a buckshot.

He can feel it for a moment before his leg goes completely numb, incapable of responding to him, a dead limb. There's a hole in it, just one, and it's clear that it's gone all the way through. His bleeding is getting out of hand now, it's a wonder he's still alive at this point. But he tries to keep going, dragging himself through the dirt.

Marcus approaches, spotting the hole in the goat's leg and in the dirt where his slug shot landed. A shame he had to use it, it's his only one, but it served its purpose.

He hoists the goat over his shoulder, setting his brother's gun down by the RV as he eyes the fire. The flame is dying, the great bout of flame waning against the wind, bustling through the forest and into the clearing.

He deposits him in the same seat as before. He's a mess, more so than before. Gasping, wheezing, bleeding enough to pass out, without medical treatment he'd die in a few hours.

And his eyes look up at Marcus, desperation in them so vivid that it practically bleeds off of him. But then his gaze drifts along the dirt then onto the fire, then nowhere in particular, clarity vanishing as his brain struggles to process the sheer amount of pain he's in.

Marcus lightly slaps his cheek a few times, drawing his attention back into reality. When their eyes meet, Marcus's head tilts one way then the other, gauging his senses as their eyes track that back and forth. "I lied to ya' earlier," he says, looming over the goat like some grim herald. "I am mad, quite furious actually. But there's no point in yellin' at ya'. It's just noise and… well I've always believed that actions speak louder than words. And I hope these actions are _screamin'_."

Fear, again, the goat knows it so well now that Marcus can't quite articulate if there's ever been a different expression on his face. So Marcus grabs him by the cheeks with one hand, projecting his control, eyes pointed and demanding. "After what you took from me, it's clear you and your lot are undeservin' of a quick death. So I need ya' t' die slow and painful like. I wanna see it hurt as ya' _burn. alive._ All just so you keep the fire burnin', all so you can do one good service to the world 'fore you pass. So I ask ya' t' sing fer' me, at the top o' your lungs till your throat goes dry from meltin' in the heat."

Then Marcus remembers what other face the goat's managed to make before… one of hubris, defiance. "I'll be steadfast…" he says, spitting blood at his face, "…I'll not give you _the satisfaction._ "

Marcus leans in as one arm snakes behind the goat as he takes his limp arms behind him. With a firm grip over his wrists, he whispers in his ear. "Then allow me to give ya' a little incentive on that regard." Marcus immediately pulls up his arms, severing the tendons at their base. The goat screams as the pain is accompanied by the mute flop of his arms falling lifelessly at his sides.

Dying, motorless, and with a mind so filled with the shock of his wounds, the goat feels madness overcome, sparked by adrenaline that fuels his useless body.

Marcus then takes the chair in his hands and – with a quick shove – tosses the man into the fire. He tries to squirm but his body doesn't respond.

Marcus tries to feel something but his body won't move, lost in a trance like state as the burning flesh calls upon that same distinct aroma, that mysterious allure he can't quite place is suddenly coming to light…

He realizes that he hasn't eaten in a long while, and the sun has already set. With his mind in a haze, the scent becomes stronger, whispering to him through the hunger coiling through his empty stomach.

The screaming from the goat has long since stopped, but the body is still feeding the fire.

The leg with the single hole through it is burning quickly as it sags off the side… but some instinct, desperate and broken, has him reaching out for it.

With ease, he rips out the limb off from the hole that's already through it, and with the cooked meat dangling lazily off his grasp, he can't help but feel the need to quench that roaring hunger.

_Thumping in his ear._

_Beating in his chest._

_Gnawing at his skin._

**~o~~~~o~**

"…he was found approximately fifteen hours later, staring down at a bloody dock. The file says he was… covered in blood, and in complete shock, 'essentially catatonic' was the general consensus of his condition." An paces the floor before Gizelle as she reads through the file, flopping to the floor. She crosses her legs as she eyes up the gazelle sitting at the sofa.

Gizelle mulls over the detail, tapping her pencil against her lip as she eyes down her notes, unblinking like a contemplative owl. "Go on," she says.

An obliges with a sigh, some hesitation coiling in her throat, tiny flashes of distant memories distracting her for a moment too long, but if Gizelle caught it, then she deigns to not mention it. "They took him to the Roaming Meadows Asylum which almost immediately discharged him-"

"-Because they ruled that he was fit enough to stay at home," Gizelle finishes for her, eyes alighting to some revelation. She thinks of the second victim, and considers that Marcus's connection to him is far too convenient to ignore. "You think… you think that's where the second victim died?"

"Fuck if I know," An shrugs nonchalantly, "I just hope the old man gave him a hard time." There is grit in her tone, almost bitter as it escapes her lips, a token of a woman with some heft boring down on her.

An's tired eyes rise to find Gizelle staring at her, her notes on the side as her attention shifts completely to her. But then she realizes that she's staring, making her look away embarrassed.

An doesn't like making Gizelle uncomfortable. At least not like this.

She doesn't know what to do as she fidgets in place, biting her lip. "Can we… can we stop for a minute? I… need to get something off my chest," An says with a hesitance so unlike her.

Gizelle is surprised she even managed to get her to open up. "W-what's wrong?" She silently curses herself for stuttering.

An pushes herself up, pushing away her anxieties to speak, running her fingers through the fur on her head. "It's just… I'm a little overwhelmed by all this."

Gizelle raises a brow. "An, it's been almost a year since."

She almost doesn't respond. "That's just how bad it is." She doesn't like admitting to vulnerabilities but her mouth runs a mile-a-minute, outpacing even her sensibilities. "Zel, I _loved_ Marcus. Everyone at the Hunting Club did. And to think that that man, the one we all looked up to, was a serial killer? It's just… it's _**fucking nuts.**_ " She gasps, a lone tear drowning in her fur, dampening it just the tiniest.

An curses under her breath, shaking her head as she buries her sorrow with a sigh. "I don't expect you, or anyone else outside of the Broncs to really understand, and – I _fucking swear_ – you're all better off that way, but for us the wound is either still fresh in our minds or… never meant to heal." The dejection carving sullen shapes along her cheeks gains weight as it dangles her heart by a thread, furthering her torment. She isn't at tears yet, but the hard lines along her face tell of a bottled fury that tries to mask all the pain underneath.

Gizelle quickly comes to her side in an embrace. "Hey, hey, come back to me. You'll be alright…"

An shakes her head, trying to resolve herself, but the flurry of emotions and heated, boiling _hate_ fill her veins so fast that it could mist the tears running down her cheeks… but they don't belong to her.

An gently pushes Gizelle back, finding a few tears trailing down her cheeks. "Zel?"

"I'm sorry. I know this is putting a lot of pressure on you… I knew that revisiting this with you of all people is probably a little uncalled for but—"

An drops her forehead against Gizelle's, silencing her. "Hey, I'm the one who asked to get involved. I'm sorry about the way I acted back there. I just… I wish I could forget how much he meant to me, but that doesn't mean I should get so worked up over it."

With a hefty sigh, An quells the fire in her heart and hands Gizelle a handkerchief to wipe her stray tears. "Now, c'mon, we've got work to do."

"You sure you want to continue? We could take a break."

An sighs, a tiny smile on her lips. "Calvary will be needing me by the end of the week. So we need to finish this up in the few days I'm still available…" She laughs quietly to herself. "Plus he's having dinner with the staff tonight and I'm taking you with me whether you like it or not."

Zel scoffs playfully. "If Terry's there, I'd much rather not." Gizelle lets her hair fall over her face to hide her. "Besides, I… I still have work to do." She looks up at An through her golden locks and finds her raised brow and knowing smile. "You're not giving me much of a choice now, aren't you?"

She nods once before getting up, extending a hand out to her before hoisting her up. "So what's next?"

"Oh, um… the next victim."

An walks over to the coffee table then leafing through the papers. She quickly finds the tiny case file, only a page long, and huffs. "Henry Avery was last seen leaving his home on August 6th 2005, at approximately one PM according to his wife." An reads through it, scanning through the paper as Gizelle retakes her seat at the sofa. "It says here that she said he usually went out on the weekend to see an old friend's grave out in the forest. He usually came home before dinner but she figured that he probably just stayed a while longer." She looks up from her paper, a dejected sigh escaping her lips. "She ended up calling police come midnight, but by then his trail had gone cold and no one could find anything."

They roll the bitter idea over for a moment, trying to force away the image of Lutessa Avery fearing for her husband. The woman is stoic, with skin just as thick as her husband's… but it is mettle earned from losing her husband.

"So we know that Henry and Marcus were old friends," Gizelle says, "and since Marcus was confined to his home, Henry might have gone to see him."

"You sure Marcus didn't just find him in the forest?" An reasons, drawing from the same conclusion much of the ZPD had defaulted to.

Gizelle shakes her head. "It wouldn't have been convenient enough," Gizelle disagrees, running off her theory. She feels as if Henry was basically given to him on a silver platter, an opportunity to test how well he could get away with murder. According to Lutessa, Marshal was even out of the house preparing for his school's performance at the Autumn Festival.

The pair of them alone creates a scenario too good to ignore.

An mulls over the evidence put forth but isn't quite all caught up with Gizelle's sense of logic. "So, to you, Raeger was an accident that rendered him inert but Henry was a matter of convenience? Why not rule that out as an accident too?"

Gizelle would have liked to say she hesitated, but the certainty when asked about this… she knows it would have upset An to know that she has no doubt in her mind about her assumptions about Marcus. But she presses, eyes steely and without falter. "Cause it creates the kind of person we need to show them… the man who became a monster. Because whatever Marcus experienced in that forest, he felt he could emulate it. That's the major difference between Raeger and Henry. Raeger's death stirred the idea of Carrion… _but Henry made him real._ "

**~͏́͜~̸̨̕~̷̧͘҉̶ǫ̷̀0͘҉͘҉O҉͏͟͠0̶͢ǫ̴̛̀̕~́͟͞~̴̴́͟͝~͏̴̛͜͟**

It is to be a private meeting.

Henry had gone to the swamp on the very night Marcus was picked up. What he found was astonishing to say the least.

His position as an undercover investigator was intended to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the conmen who've begun scoping the place out for their operations… he didn't actually think he'd have to investigate a murder.

What he found is… troubling. But he wants to gauge Marcus's reaction first before he brings it to the Sheriff's department in the morning. He thinks he has a pretty good idea of what happened but one can never be too careful.

Henry stalks the alleyways and roads less traveled inside of Stable Village. He knows its streets well, having been born and raised here – missing it everyday when he had to sleep on a makeshift cot in a bullet-ridden tent. Now the hustle and bustle of life in a farmer's town feels like a different world from that hell. It's familiar, comforting, casting a veil over the nightmares that linger beneath his lids.

Once upon a time he called this place his playground, where every nook and cranny served to shroud him in his juvenile bliss, filled with hiding spots and secret stashes. Even then he was resourceful, pulling out candy bars and half empty mint cans seemingly out of thin air for the sustained awe of his bewildered friends. In this neighborhood he was king… and it stayed that way until the day he enlisted in the army.

He remembers those somber nights before being shipped off to the Midwest, sitting out in the alleys behind the houses, smoking circular puffs into the air that vanish in the looming twilight that bleeds into the night. And there he'd meet the young Marcus Hector – the most pragmatic little pig he'd ever had the pleasure of knowing – for what he thought would be the last time.

" _I'd tell ya' t' stop smokin' but you'll need all the relaxation you can get, what with where you're goin',_ " young Marcus once told him, sitting beside the ragged man as he blows his smoke respectfully in the other direction.

" _You gonna miss me, kid?_ " he replied after a sullen chuckle.

He remembers how the little pig pouted, the fear in his eyes hidden beneath his elsewhere gaze. " _Just don't make us miss you forever._ "

He chuckled, both then and now, as that promise echoes back to him. He wanted to think it was some juvenile hope that drove him through that war, that child-like mysticism that just wanted a happy ending, ignorant of the cruel, cruel world. But perhaps that was exactly what he _needed_ … perhaps that is exactly what he _needs_.

The back alleys behind this block of homes were once meant for a park, but that was part of the town's city development plan which ultimately never panned out. Now it's just a wide courtyard of ill-advised parking and basketball courts that _make it_ ill-advised.

His footfalls press over the untended grass along its edges, muffling his footsteps. He's trying to be quiet but he knows it's unnecessary. The neighborhood is mostly empty today, the Autumn Festival doing much to occupy the town up in the market. It's the very reason why he had taken this singular opportunity to sneak out of the house.

He doesn't normally like misleading his wife. He _did_ tell her he was going out to see an old friend… he just didn't specify which one.

Still, after he gets his bearings with Marcus and talks to Detective Taepur, he'll most certainly have to tell his wife where he's been.

It isn't long until he gets to the edge of the neighborhood, up against the border wall between it and the rest of the town. But cut along this very wall is a duplicitous bakery that is actually home just behind the kitchen.

And there lies the Hectors' backdoor, tucked neatly adjacent to the wall, hidden behind the outcropping of the rest of the building, and passed a bush and a short brick wall in their own backyard.

He hops onto the wall with ease, sitting at the top as his eyes lingering along the backyard for a moment. He remembers coming here often, frequenting visits with his little friend and his folks, but those days have long since been gone, distant memories that vanish in blurry haze of a life he can bare task to countenance. It would have been saddening but it isn't. Nowadays those memories are instead replaced with new ones, where his little friend has a family of his own… those are fresher, right here and right now.

He'll make sure he gets to keep making those memories.

He hops down and does a silent nod in the direction of a nearby apple tree, the sight of the little grave nestled in an assortment of flowers does his heart good to see that none of the Hectors have forgotten Karvina.

But as he approaches the door, his foot catches onto the handle of a laid down shovel. There's also two pairs of gloves, a long crowbar meant for pulling large rocks, and a few other things, all in a haphazard pile. It seems that Marshal has preemptively prepared the supplies for Raeger's burial. _But there won't be a body to bury._

He pushes passed it instead, thoughts forced elsewhere as he takes out a key and unlocks the door.

The bakery is flush in darkness, locked up for the week it seems until Marcus can pull himself together.

The haunting shadows are an augury sign of a life that could be, of an empty house and its ghosts. Old souls stricken by loss, rotting away at the looming dissonance of a home that is not so much broken as it is… incomplete.

He treks onward, no longer bothering to muffle his footsteps. In the confines of these walls, he knows he is neither seen nor heard. He knows the schedules of the visiting doctor and his nurses, and the police have already advised against visitors so Marcus can rest in the silence of his own home.

He enters the living room and prepares to ascend the staircase but a familiar sight lingers in his periphery. He furthers into the room along the carpeted floor to stand before Karvina's grand piano. It is meticulously polished, the whole of its ebony frame glistening despite the low light, smooth to the touch over its maple surface. He opens the fallboard to let his fingers run over the ivory keys, his digits gliding weightlessly over them as he is tempted to press them. They aren't perfect though, the yellowish edges of each key are telltale signs of its use and sheer age, but it adds to the character.

A chuckle rises from his lips as he sits there on the bench, bemused at the idea that the old instrument is almost as old as he is. But the mysticism vanishes a moment later when he hears rustling upstairs.

He closes the fallboard, turning away from the memories of little Karvina trying to teach him how to play the piano. He still doesn't know how – he never really tried to – but it all served to amuse him at the idea that he frustrated her to no end by repeatedly goofing off every time she managed to sit him at the bench.

He pushes away, gone and up the stairs as the familiar atmosphere drowns in the dread haunting the back of his mind.

Marcus's door opens as Henry walks in, spotting the pig seated by the window, staring into nothing. The pig doesn't even acknowledge him even as the door clicks shut.

"I've come to see you. I hope you don't mind, I used the spare key you gave me," Henry says, approaching him from the side. But then he finds Marcus's faraway gaze… and horror etched deeply into his eyes. Marcus is clearly spooked, eyes wide as if still staring at the spate of blood that was once half his brother laid out on the dock.

Henry can only imagine what he'd seen… and that alone is terrifying.

He remembers Raeger as Marcus's rowdier and far less mature elder brother. Loud, obnoxious, and would continue to be as such well into his adulthood, he was the very picture of brazen youth, and Henry loved him for it. His was a fiery spirit who loved his family dearly, brimming with energy and always ready with a quip, he was a hit around the neighborhood, much to the envy of his brother in their formative years.

It was also really hard to hate a man who was as irritating as he was clever, but all the Hectors are smart.

But now all of that is gone, leaving Marcus behind as a husk who can only glimpse the once vivid memories, blurring beneath the traumatizing horror still fresh in his mind.

Henry takes a seat at the bed behind him. He sighs, hoping for a response but knowing full well that he won't get one. "I'll skip right to the chase then… I know what happened in the swamp – in the clearing."

Marcus stirs then, which worries Henry. Because if Marcus seems guilty, he'll have to call Taepur and have him brought in, if he's not… then he'll do what he can to give this family justice. But it's hard to judge his reactions from this angle, what with Marcus's back to him.

He gets up and leans himself against the wall, and he is shocked – and a little relieved – to find that Marcus's eyes dart about in some silent panic. He seems to be recollecting something, and it pains Henry to keep pushing but he needs to lay everything out.

"The rafts are missing and… I found the buckshot casings by the dock. I know you fought off a gator to save your brother but I can tell it was too late." He almost looks away from Marcus, clearly uncomfortable with his own conclusion. "Some of the shrapnel's on the dock's end – that's where you shot the gator off Raeger, am I right?" Still no new response, but he takes comfort, at least, at the idea that it isn't getting worse.

"But there's shrapnel midway of the dock too, where all that blood starts…" he continues, the words quivering at his lip as he leans in, "…that was for Raeger, I'm guessing." A gasp from Marcus, covering his mouth as he chokes back something. "A mercy killing, to put your brother out of his misery."

He could send a team to retrieve the dead gator at the bottom of the lake. He's certain that if they manage to find Raeger's legs somewhere inside of it, then that can help to clear Marcus of any potential charges. But there's still more that needs to be addressed.

"I know about the clearing too."

Another stir, eyes darting about for only a moment before settling back at the window, locked onto the rays of light, as drawn to it as he was with the flickering flame that turned his brother to ash.

"There wasn't much left of that goat. But I can guess he was used to keep the fire going?" Henry's words are cautious, suddenly terrified as he perchances the abyss Marcus has walked into. What he'd done… such harrowing sights, either witnessed or acted upon by his own hands. These are the coiling tendrils of what is certain madness. Looming, lurking at the back of his mind like a phantom limb… but it is more than that. Because much like the torment of war's witness, it is omnipresent – not a stain, but a scar.

"The family," he continues, "all shot square in the head, perhaps by the goat. I'm guessing he was the father of that family with adopted children. Some dispute with the mother that ultimately had him killing them off? I can tell you punished him accordingly for it, though. One less scumbag in the world." Henry leans in, trying once more to make eye contact with Marcus. "But what I don't get is how that ended up with you and Raeger at the docks." He gives him a stern look, betraying the fear still locked in his quivering fingers, telling himself that his old friend wasn't somehow a murderer inspired by another murderer.

Because the theory prattling about in his head is that he enjoyed the murder and then promptly had his brother eaten by gators so he can mask it as a mercy killing. But it has holes and doesn't make all that much sense but he doesn't have all the details in the brief time he was there.

But that's why he's here. He wants to hear Marcus's side of the story, he wants him to clear his own name.

But there's still no response, and he's afraid he's only made Marcus's condition worse, what with the continuous instances of brief panic.

He pushes off the wall, watching Marcus bury his face in his hands. There are no tears, only horror mixed in with that pale, broken expression.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have come here." He makes his way towards the door, the echo of his footsteps sounding like a snare drum luring Marcus back into the present, his breathing steadying as he realizes that he's back home.

Henry reaches for the doorknob, but he turns about at the sound of Marcus's chair scraping against the floor. He's pushed the chair back, mind still wandering elsewhere but he's shaking it, as if rejecting something. "Rae… died a hero," he whispers.

"A hero?"

"Father was a stag… Found his family murdered by some _despicable_ cult." His eyes fall to his hands as they slowly open then close, trying to grasp at something that he cannot take hold of, _like ash slipping through his fingers._ "Stag couldn't take it… killed 'imself in the middle o' the lake…" His eyes turn skyward, breathing heavily now as he gasps once, shaking his head again as he ventures to fathom what he's lost. "Rae went after 'im… didn't end well… didn't make it…"

Marcus grits his teeth, anger alighting in his core. "Ah' killed that man… made him regret what he'd _wrought._ " But immediately the anger fades away, eyes softening as his vivid pain washes over him and into the room. "Wasn't enough…" The way his eyes shut tell Henry that he wants to scream but can't. "Wasn't enough t' save 'im…"

Henry kneels at his side, looking up at him as he takes his arm, squeezing it. Finally, Marcus meets his gaze. "Why'd He take 'im, Henry?"

The badger would have perhaps used something generic and expectant but he knows Marcus can take an honest answer. "People come and go, it's just the natural order of things, but the best we can do is… make the most of it. We have to. We live on carrying their spirit. In spite of our loss, we have also gained. We make sure that never is there a death in our lives that is in vain."

Marcus turns away, breath steadying, relaxing finally in his seat.

Henry smiles at him, but all Marcus can do is look at him once more, but it's enough. "I'll let the police know what you've told me," Henry says. "We'll put this case to bed then give Rae a proper goodbye."

He stands, perhaps taller than when he came. Marcus is responding finally, a feat considering the reports from the medical staff. _He'll recover… we'll just keep being there for him._ "I'll come by again tomorrow."

He pulls away, considering that his wife should be expecting him sometime soon already. He doesn't know how long he's been out, but he isn't about to take his chances. He walks passed the bed then —Henry falls to the bed in a muffled thud, a hunting knife stabbed clean into his left temple.

Marcus stands over him, scanning the splatter on his sheets and nodding slowly when he finds that it is _only_ on the sheets. A professional, clean kill, just like with the gators.

He takes the badger's legs that hang off the side of the bed then places them on top. He then draws the knife slowly from his skull, wiping it on the sheets before looking down at the body.

 _Choice cuts. Burn the sheets. Doctor coming in two hours._ His mind works a mile-a-minute, considering his actions only briefly before he gets to cutting, blade falling onto the old badger's shoulder. _Lutessa doesn't know he's here… They'll look for him in the forest._

With his sheer strength, he severs the limb right down to the bone, but his muscles are already aching from his overall fatigue and malnutrition. But he ignores it, favoring the thoughts that cling to his addled mind like parasites, eating away at his sense of reason and his grasp on reality.

" _Never is there a death that is in vain…_ "

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

" _Typer, it's me, Creed."_

" _A fine day to you too, Sheriff. What can I do for ya?"_

" _Sorry to wake you so early but I need your help. The ZPD are coming to assist in the case but I need to brief the deputies. Can you bring them up to speed in my stead?"_

" _Hm… Alright. But send them to Savory."_

" _Typer, Catfrani is closer to everywhere else…"_

" _Yeah, but Savory has Marcus. If you're bringing the city's best into this mess, they first need to know what it's done to us."_

"… _Very well. I'll have them called presently."_

Sam and Bogo can practically smell a case at the first whiff, and the article on the late Henry Avery – war vet and loving husband, vanishes without a trace following a gruesome death – rang far too many alarms for them to ignore. It only really takes a third disappearance to set them off, but they're usually gone by the first.

However, Bronc Town is a strange issue that warrants more political caution… because they don't have jurisdiction. Zootopia is a city state, and to intrude on a developing area like the fresh county of Bronc Town can get iffy, especially since it hasn't yet turned into a self-sustaining city that can separate from the rest of the South. Mostly filled with farming fields to feed its people, the collective South is the most readily equipped to turn into city states themselves, which is usually a point of pride among them.

But as they speed into town and spot the Welcome sign that brazenly announces their township permanence in marble of all things, it seems like this place isn't fixing to get independent at all. And to them that speaks volumes about the place already, a place that has no need to hide behind the fact that it doesn't have industrial might or that it only has one hotel. A place where New Years is spent at home with the family, and where not a single club can be found. It's a place that is as much country as it's going to get.

"Creed's old friend wants to meet us at a bakery," Sam says staring contemplatively at the treeline hugging the main road into the Broncs.

Bogo tilts his lip, readjusting the ill-fitting glasses planted haphazardly on his snout. "Isn't that where the first victim's brother lives?" he asks as he twitches.

"Yup."

Bogo's displeasure twists his lip but only does so much to quell his irritation. "Why would he want to meet us there? We'd be compromising a potential suspect!"

"Fuck if I know, but they have to have a good reason for it." Her own grumbling subsides as she breathes a sigh, giving Creed and his friend the benefit of the doubt, even if it does go against their instincts. She stares at him, catching his sideways glance with a look of reluctant acceptance that tells him that he'll have to surrender to it as well. "This is Detective Quagmire Taepur we're talking about, Bo. And Creed trusts him. We have to hear him out."

"I'm not saying we shouldn't," he says, "but that doesn't mean I can't like where any of this is going."

The town proper flushes through the windows, where sidewalks and storefronts still hold enough trees in such a frequency that they never forget that the whole town is in the center of a larger forest. They pass by the townsfolk and their unwavering smiles as they greet them through their open windows, and the pair of them can't help but feel a little uncomfortable at the sight.

"This is weird," Sam says as she flashes an uncomfortable smile at an old badger and her kids. "They're weird." She turns to him as she frantically rolls up her window. "Close your window! Make it stop!"

Bogo's already in the process of it, breathing thankfully for the tint they hide behind.

Despite that, the greetings never end. A clean city squad car is certainly a fresh sight in these parts. Perhaps they should've just taken their own vehicles but they're doubtful that would have changed much. Any city car, it seems, might have caught their attention.

Their car pulls passed the City Hall, spotting Mayor Anita Greycastle with her husband Glenwell. As if reading Sam and Bogo's minds, they only give them a small smile and nod, a determined look to them that explains that they understand the weight of their task… and how uncomfortable their citizens are making them.

They also nod back, quickly remembering that they're behind tint.

Soon they're upon the aforementioned bakery, the wholesome place looking far more inviting than they'd imagined. Inside they can even see Marcus Hector toiling away at some dough, humming to himself as his son bobs about in the background, decorating a cake.

"You could almost think nothing terrible happened to them," Bogo says, mimicking Sam's thoughts.

"I'd almost say suspicious but this whole town is kinda weird so far."

They push passed the door, hearing Marcus's quick greeting. "Welcome, friends! I'd like to get t' ya but I'm a little occupied. Please take a seat and I'll be right with ya'."

They do so, moving over to the booth where they spot the beaten fedora nestled atop the friendly grin of an ocelot. "Glad you two made it. I'd almost thought you two might not have come."

"Frankly speaking," Bogo begins as they take their seats across from him, "this goes against our instincts."

"As it should," he replies easily, surprising them. "Normally this would be ill-advised but this town is different from the outset of most places. So it requires a slightly different kind of touch." They're surprised long enough to shake his hand when he extends it. "Taepur, but I'm sure you already know who I am."

"We've heard great things," Sam compliments, easing what middling tension there might have been.

Taepur chuckles to himself. "Heh. Stories from Orca I presume? Nah, those days I was in my prime. I'm hardly that man anymore." He sits up, emphasizing his age as he realigns his spine. "Age has caught up to me. Which is why I've settled here. Bronc Town is the kind place people like me look out for… somewhere quiet, surrounded by friends and loved ones and… Well, that's kind of why I needed you to come here."

"You're smart, and with two o' ya…" he continues. "A damn sight smarter than I ever was. But you see, that analytical part of you isn't going to solve this case on its own."

Bogo raises a brow. "It's done us well in the past…" he says, trying not to insult the man with his tone.

Taepur shakes head. They're young still, however talented they might be. But there are cases like these that just sit in the gray, where the bad guy isn't some generic asshole who needs to be put down. No, whoever they're going to arrest is going to be a friend of the town, and the backlash of that discovery up to its approach needs to be handled with care.

He sighs, pouring the mirth from his lungs as the meager smile he once had vanishes. "You two have to understand something. The reason why we don't have suspects is because no one in town really fits the bill. To know who this kidnapper is, you have to figure out what is likely an insane, unforeseeable motive."

He reaches for a flask at his hip, chugging down the alcohol as the two sit in attentive silence, waiting for the rest. He doesn't meet their gaze as he settles the silver tin on the table. "People here are scared because they're looking at their friends and family with fear… cause when nobody looks like a murderer, then everyone does."

"You're telling us that everyone's friends here?" Sam asks, almost incredulously. Surely he can't be speaking literally. "I know it's a small town but-"

"No…" he interrupts, meeting their gaze, "everyone's _family._ In this town, it's almost _not_ an exaggeration that everyone knows everyone. And only _almost._ It's a small enough town. I can even genuinely attest to having shared a drink with everyone who legally can and… some legally shouldn't," he laughs, it dying the moment it exits his lips. "And to think that any one of them is this… _kidnapper?_ It doesn't make sense to anyone not even me. I moved here because I knew that no one here could do anything so terrible. It's clear I was wrong but… in a place like this, how could anyone expect something like _this_ to happen?"

"It could still be an outsider," Bogo says in an attempt to placate the clearly haunted man.

"Yeah, that hasn't been fully disproven yet," Sam adds.

"Hopeful speculation," Taepur says dejectedly. "And in my experience, that usually means you're looking in the wrong direction. If we don't expect the worst, then we'll never be prepared for it." He doesn't want to worry them, but he's doing just that with all this negativity. So he sighs and fixes them a smile, pumping a fist to the strength still lingering in his old, aching chest. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to concern you both. But it's important you get a handle of the nuance this case has."

"I'm not sure I follow, though," Bogo says. "Empathy is important, certainly, and we're well experienced in that regard, but I still don't see how it's going to solve the case."

Taepur leans over to the side and eyes Marcus from across the room, patting his son on the head, leaving bits of dough on him, then apologizing to his messy son before sending him off to bathe. It's a happy sight, one he nearly ruined.

"See that man over there?" he tells them. "When he finally came to, he didn't even have time to mourn, and the man has already lost two of the most important people in his life. And he was already dealing with his wife's passing just a few months ago. When he went out hunting to clear his head, we thought he was finally going to recover from his initial loss. Then _this_ happened. Now all the kin he has left is his son." He fixes them with a stern gaze, breaching the sorrow still looming in his tilted lip. "But up until his alibi was cleared by the medical staff who tended to him, he was the most likely suspect. And if he were any less durable a man, and if he were any less loved by this town, the accusation might have destroyed him… and, consequently, this town."

The pair gives him confused looks, still trying to catch up with the way this quirky little town works. Surely he can't be serious… can't he? An entire town's stability can't depend on one man!

"This town has pillars," he continues, "and he's one of them. It holds together through tough times, be it war or an outbreak on the crops, and now – apparently – a serial kidnapping and potential murder because of these people. And were any of them to break, if we are ever to put too much pressure on them, this town will fall apart. If the Autumn Festival wasn't coming up, these people would have had nothing to distract them."

It makes sense, they suppose. A nearly crimeless town would need something to bolster it in case things get tough. Maybe one day they'll stop jumping at shadows and endure the looming presence of a kidnapper, but today it seems that they're just starting out. But the mayor and her secretary certainly seem like they already know, perhaps already preparing to aid their own people as best they can.

A quick glance at the jolly pig tells them a great many things. That he is enduring the loss, that the smile he wears is cracked and unreal, but is there nonetheless. If Taepur had already accused him, then he certainly took it well enough to come out like this. But there are the faintest hints of dark circles about his eyes, a man too tired to be awake or simply cried himself to sleep, but he's here, putting on the best face that people won't look twice at, cause it would only take a second look to see that he's trying hard not to mourn.

But a bitter part of them reluctantly pulls back, taking one last crack for their instincts' sake. "How sure are you that it isn't him?" Sam asks.

"He never left this house since his brother was murdered. And now we have two missing, also presumed dead."

The detective explains Marcus's alibi is that he was out hunting with his brother and they found the rafts mysteriously inflated by the dock. Marcus decided to follow the trail of a blue jay that likely belonged to someone, perhaps a strange new addition to the Whitewood aviary, leaving his brother behind. When the trail went cold, he went back, only to find Raeger chasing a stag who had taken one of the rafts whilst he had taken the other one to go after him. The gators were swarming the stag, so Raeger needed to go and save him. Raeger managed to hold them off long enough for the stag to cross the lake… and then he jumped into the water to be eaten. Since it was much too late for him, Raeger went back to the dock but the gators managed to get his ores so he chanced the current but the gators got aggressive somehow.

They attacked the raft and he was out of ammo, forcing Raeger to dive in as close to the dock as he could. He got close enough to grab onto Marcus's weapon but a gator managed to get his legs. Marcus shot the gator, but only to find that his brother was already half eaten.

Unwilling to lose one of his kin, he managed a tourniquet then headed off to make a call at the phone by the dock but he found that the line was dead. When he emerged from the shack, he found that his brother had vanished, leaving only the blood and a streak of it sliding off the side of the dock.

Taepur's personal findings on the dock confirm this, as the streak he'd found was consistent with someone pushing then kicking Raeger's body off the side of the dock.

Perhaps they might have not been connected, perhaps the tragedy that befell Marcus Hector might have been an unfortunate yet unrelated incident. But the string of disappearances that followed speak of a grave certainty. That if a place that calls everyone 'friend' suddenly has a kidnapper, then anyone and everyone is a suspect, and with a list that long, far more will be gone by the time they catch the culprit.

**~o~~~~o~**

"So it was doomed from the start?" Judy asks, an almost startled look to her as she looks up at her chief who is leaning on their office's doorframe

"The detective's heart was in the right place," Bogo replies, hefting an age old sigh that's much too long overdue, "and I have no doubt that Marcus would have eluded us still, even if we _were_ looking in the right direction. The man was clever, careful, but above all… he was kind." They wince at that, the idea that the man's charm had so easily worked on all of them is a testament to his enduring charade. "He tricked us all into looking the other way, just because he began as an unlikely suspect. And to think he began by throwing us off by killing his own brother…"

Judy turns to meet Nick's gaze as he sits on their conjoined desks. He gives her the same worried apologetic look she's giving him, lips twisting before the buffalo.

"He didn't kill his brother," Nick says calmly, leveling with Bogo in a manner that is almost unlike him, "to us it looks like the gators ate him and we believe that his death acted as a catalyst. Carrion needed to start somewhere, and grief to mask what horrors he'd seen is just the kind of scenario that fits."

"We all know he… _eats_ people," Judy says with as much discomfort as everyone's feeling but not trying not to show it. "When they found him, he was shaking but wasn't starving. He'd been lost in there for hours… We don't know what happened in that forest, but he must've gotten desperate about what he should be eating. And afterwards, it seems like he got curious about what other people taste like." It's all speculation, she'll admit, but it's the same kind of guess work that has given them a killer to put behind bars, an end to the malefaction that still looms over that town, permeating in the horizon like a plague they've carried home.

Nick shakes his head, the hint of a scowl lingering at his shut lips. "Everyone afterwards was an opportunity he used to further that curiosity."

Sam pokes her head through the door over Bogo's shoulder, having heard the conversation on the way to him. "So you're telling us that he didn't kill him but he ate what was left?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Judy explains. "The report says that he mentioned that there was a stag who was in the area. It would have been suspicious if the forest nearby wasn't so popular a place. He could have just been a lost hiker they'd met who may have inadvertently cause Raeger's death, and the idea that even if that man was only _remotely_ involved in it still might have spurned Marcus to do what he did."

Sam and Bogo hum in agreement. An opportunist sounds like the kind of person Marcus would be. He's a businessman on top of… everything else (as hard as it is to see in a kindly baker). And him doing what he likes is made all the easier when he understands all his victims personally, down to their habits that might accrue an opportunity like a smoke break by a bar or a weak bladder whilst hiking.

"Well, we won't keep you," Sam tells them as she pulls Bogo by the arm, taking him off the doorframe "me and your boss are gonna go to the shooting range. Drinks are on me tonight when I show this sour bovine I'm still the better shot!" Her teasing does little to faze the buffalo, shaking his head as he rolls his eyes to mask the amusement he feels as she lets out a little laugh.

"I'll expect the full report next week," Bogo manages with a smile.

Nick and Judy exchange a confused glance. "Chief," Judy begins, "we can have it done by morning."

Bogo's smile falters, but the side of his lip crests upward in a half smile, a glimpse of his concern leaking through. "Look, you two have been through a lot to get to this point. Your perspective will be invaluable in giving us these last few insights but… you have to take it slow. You're back in Zootopia and you're _safe._ You should consider taking some time off as well, get your bearings so you can put this case behind you." He doesn't give them time to respond, closing the door behind him as Sam mirrors his expression as they walk off.

Nick doesn't know what to do with himself at this point. Bogo's concern is well appreciated but it's also… _weird._ And the silliness of it gives him a brief respite, a moment of quiet comfort that makes him forget that his pistol still slung into his holster that sits at his seat not a few feet away.

Judy takes the advice to heart, wanting no more than to get this over and done with quick, but a few more breaks in between could help.

She hops onto the desk to join him, filing through the papers so they can work out what to add to the original report in their system. The names they read over pass by in a blur. All they have is some connection to Marcus, some of which can only be taken as such with some clever guesswork, but they ultimately don't add very much.

Minutes pass and Nick thinks a coffee break is in order, at least to break the pattern of tedium that he's afraid he'll pass out for, even if only for comedic purposes. "It'll only be thirty minutes, Judes."

"You can always just bring it in here," she replies, not even looking up from her work. "I'm okay with the monotony for as long as we get this done early."

"Judy," he breathes sternly, causing her to look up at him, "it's over. We don't have to work non-stop anymore."

"I know, I just…" Her deep lavender gaze is still lost in the amalgam of thoughts running a mile-a-minute in her head, refusing to tear away from her work while there is still work to be done. But then he leans towards her, pressing his forehead to hers as he takes her hands and pulls away the papers so he can slip his fingers between hers. An excuse dares to breach her lips but it is caught in her throat, lies she would never tell because he would see passed them, because he asks her not to.

His own gaze matches hers, pulling her from her thoughts as he breathes dejectedly.

The man before her asks only for her honesty, and asks her not to hide behind anything she might dare put up for anyone else. Such things would never even work on him, he'd practically written the book on lying through your teeth, but it's more than that. He understands her, levels with her, knows those fears and shares them because he'll take her pain and take her as she is. He can shoulder that sorrow and that grief, as he will do the same with her, unloading his overbearing torment, because she asks him to.

And his eyes ask that she remember that. That they are equals in this friendship, that the ground they walk on is equally rough and jagged, their backs equally burdened. Because she is not some fairytale princess who needs to be saved from some daunting malevolence. And he is not some wayward prince she'd stricken pride from and shown the beauty of the world to.

He more than asks her to get coffee so she can tear herself away from work, he asks it so he doesn't have to do it alone.

Then, a brief thought passes over them both, daring to rid them of their fears for a moment long enough to smile genuinely at. She manages a grin that confuses him, only to be further confused when she pecks his lips, causing him to reel.

He pulls away from her and she hops off the desk, a file in her hand. "I'll meet you halfway, Slick. We'll look over this file together, and we'll have more than coffee. Take an hour's break then get back to it."

He chuckles, landing at her side as he takes the file to look it over. "I guess it's as good an offer as I'm gonna get." He takes her waist then drags her to his side, sighing at the open profile in his hand. "Alexander Wolfgang… didn't think we'd ever get his full story." _…on account of him being dead,_ he doesn't say. Cause it's a terrible joke and it's every indication that he isn't yet back on his feet.

**~͏́͜~̸̨̕~̷̧͘҉̶ǫ̷̀0͘҉͘҉O҉͏͟͠0̶͢ǫ̴̛̀̕~́͟͞~̴̴́͟͝~**

_Doubt. It is both bane and boon, the foil in which sordid lies reach no fruition, and where which great truths are shrouded in obscurity. To discern the two, one requires doubt. But t' find the truth I needed, I could not look to my quarry. I needed someone outside of our boundaries, one close enough for me t' capture, to understand, to take without bein' noticed, but also one outside enough to be everythin' this town isn't. Someone who could face what I had felt – that deep, underlyin' torment and that… incorrigible hunger, someone who is everythin' I'm not. And if that person so different from me feels the same way, does the same, to surrender as I had… then I'd have discerned whether or not the philosophy I tell myself everyday is an inescapable truth, or a lie I use to mask what horrors I'd done._

_~Marcus Hector, in a private conversation with Doctor Orson who tended to the victim before his suicide_

**~̶~̵̵͘͝~̡҉̛̀͏o̧͏͠0͏̛͢͟͡O̢̧͟0̵͞͝͝ơ̵~҉̢~̷̕~͟͝ ~~~~**

Alexander Wolfgang awakens from a deep slumber. He first thinks that he, perhaps, has awoken from a nightmare, but as he tries to move his wrists, only to find that they are cuffed and bound to a metal chair does he realize that he has instead awoken _into_ one yet again.

It's been like this for a few days now. Or has it been weeks? Maybe months? He isn't quite sure anymore. His starvation and the looming crest of madness has done much to skew his sense of time. There is little sound in the room he's in aside from the deafening tick of a wall clock. It's there in his periphery, the click of its gears thrumming in his temples in a painfully monotone symphony. He does his best to ignore it.

It reads a time, he can't tell what, but even if he could, he would have no way of knowing if it's in the morning or the evening. Because there are no windows in this room save for the one before him that only leads to another, similarly windowless room.

The ceiling and floor are toned equivocally in black, like an abyss beneath his curled toes or gaping it's darkness up above. But, oh, how he wishes it would consume him, to swallow him whole in that endless darkness so he need not see what lies in that other room.

But he looks anyway, eyes forced to watch the innocuous sight before him as his head is tied to the backrest of the seat, stationary and unable to turn. A young pig plods about in the next room, having conversations with himself and his toys, ruminating on little pointless things he no longer has the faculties to decipher.

He blinks, remembering the darkness beneath his lids, but to escape to it again will only invite slumber, and he cannot sleep again, lest he awaken hours later, with even fewer time and an even weaker body to attempt escape with. And his wrists are already bloody from trying to struggle out of the cold steel cuffs behind him, with his forehead thoroughly scraped of fur accompanied by an uncomfortable rash beneath that leather cloth around his head.

He licks his dry lips. He is hungry, dangerously so, and the need for it has already become painful to bear. "It's easier to just give in," comes the droll voice whispering in the air, the same haunting sound that has loomed over him each time he could bring himself some clarity.

"It's the natural order of things, intrinsic to your kind, the evolutionary demand for your razor sharp teeth. There is no shame in wanting it." The voice is not demanding, it is soothing, familiar even, but not alike to anyone he knows. The accent is distinctly American, but is as accentless as they come, with no quirks to the voice or the manner it is spoken. It almost comes off as fictitious to him, as if ripped from generic television or the dialogue of a featureless book character.

But that indistinct tone is alluring in the way that it feels like he might have conjured it, as if his encroaching madness had fabricated it to soothe his addled sensibilities and ache still rolling in his stomach.

"Hrk!" he grunts from the pain, words having failed him long ago.

He twists his head in place in an attempt to pull away from the voice that continues to speak, relegating its spoken words into a dull murmur in his mind. But he feels his mind slipping, thoughts now a fearful mumble of desperate inquiries to make sense of the world he inhabits and the voice that whispers damning thoughts.

But when he had first awoken here, his thoughts were of some investigative, quizzical nature.

He'd wondered after the child, if he was related to his captor in some way, or is perhaps just another prisoner like him, but is otherwise willing. Father, guardian, brother, teacher, all sorts of designations that grant him no clarity if he cannot see the voices face. The only hint he has is padding that lines the next room's walls, clearly meant to protect the child from harming himself, a clear sign of care. But now he can't even bring himself to ruminate after him outside of potentially being his one true means of escape.

He'd wondered after the voice as well, picked apart every fragment dialogue he could remember before spat back at it with insults when he was able. But it never regarded him then, had never, _would_ never, answer his questions. Anything he'd spoken would go unheard, and the voice would speak unerringly and without halt until it was done speaking and never before. And he'd assumed it was a recording of some sort, but the voice is clear and there is no static from a device. So what is this voice then? Is it even real? Has he gone completely mad?

He'd also wondered about the scent rather briefly, but it is only of the child across from him. There is no hint of anything else in the air passed his own festering from his wounded wrists. It had almost been enough to make him think no one else is in the room, but only almost.

His gut wrenches then, coiling hunger demanding satiation again. Perhaps he is also thirsty, but the thought never occurs to him.

Again his eyes find the child as he licks his lips.

"To succumb is not surrender," the voice says, "it is merely embracing who you really are."

His breathing becomes haggard and tears begin to form. The pain in his gut only grows and the words spurning him on only further the war raging in his mind. He feels reality slipping, his sensibilities failing, all of him coming into collapse as his body feels like it's also losing oxygen.

The idea lingers, presses him on, asking that he try. But his stomach and its subsequent ache is far less gentle, demanding him to abandon his morals and ease his continued suffering.

But to end his hunger is to feed, and there is only one meal on the menu… _and it's still alive._

He feels vulnerable, weak, giving in to the swirling demons whispering in the errant wind, poisoning his mind as clarity begins to leave him.

And then, like every other time, he is suddenly and without warning, plunged into the dark as he is blindfolded.

He no longer hears the voice, only the faint sound of a door creaking open.

He tries not to pay it mind, but he knows it is coming, the sound of tiny footsteps over the floor, echoing in the small room. Something is then slipped into the front of his mouth, some triangular object he tries not to open his jaw for, but it pushes its way in.

The object trapped between his teeth tastes of some thick plastic but is much too strong to penetrate with his fangs. It pulls his jaw up as wide as he physically can, and he can feel his breath trapped behind it.

He hears the child mumble something passed a gag of some sort. Something is in the child's mouth, rendering him unable to speak coherently.

Then the object in his mouth is quickly pulled away, replaced by the soft tender flesh of some young babe. It feels like the child's plump neck, the Adam's apple resting downward at his tongue confirming it.

The child mumbles something again, vibrating the throat clenched in his teeth.

He can feel him breathing, feels the life still radiating off of this innocent little piglet, youth still bright in his eyes as he's imagined him…

But then the stifling pain in his gut wrenches again, and his teeth squeeze too hard.

The child screams beneath his muzzle, and he can already feel the blood oozing off the flesh and sinking into his throat.

_Oh god, I've hurt him!_

Tears fight their way through his covered lids, as he panics. The kid is in pain and will likely bleed to death in his mouth. He needs to end it quickly, snuff the life out so he doesn't need to suffer. So with an abhorrence still lingering at his clenched fists, he bites down as hard as he can, snapping the soft bone beneath.

And yet a darker, more sinister part of him delights in finally being given a meal… and so he begins to cut away at the flesh with his teeth, telling himself that he's already dead and that there has to be some way that this is okay.

But as his tongue pulls in a chunk of the chipped meat down his throat, a sated gulp escapes him, weeping at the atrocity he has just and is continuing to commit, but filling his belly nonetheless.

He knows it's wrong. He knows it's terrible. He knows it goes against everything he's ever stood for. But he needs to tell himself it's okay somehow, he needs to stop himself from plunging into this despair and his utter and complete disgust of himself.

So he surrenders to those words that whisper still, perhaps permeated by his own mind and nowhere else. _That it is only the natural order of things._

**~̷̧́͡͝~̨̀̕͟͡~̸̛́o͝0̷̡̧͜O҉̸̶͝0͏̡͟͡o̕~̡̀~̴̀̕̕͠~̨͞͞**

As the wolf gnaws at the disembodied head of some piglet from town, Marcus is left breathless at the sight of some great relief.

This… this is the validation he'd been looking for! That if driven, truly driven up the wall, they would all eventually surrender to their true nature, that the natural order of things he has given himself to is as true to Alex as it is to him.

He is elated, settling some great relief out of his tense muscles, and he even manages a smile.

But then his ears catch wind of sobbing, the kind he realizes aren't Wolfgang's.

He turns to see his startled son, rubbing tears out of his eyes but never daring to remove the cloth from his mouth. He knows his father wanted to keep him quiet with it but he couldn't help but yelp passed the cloth when the wolf engorged the meat. Though the sight of torn flesh is not a sight he isn't used to, he still can't help but feel stricken at the idea that he almost failed his father.

Marcus recognizes this and cradles his son. If anything, the yelp might have worked in their favor. He wishes he could've told him he did well, but he cannot dare speak.

He is thankful that Alex cannot pick apart his own sobbing from Marshal's, but would not allow himself to take any more chances. He gestures for Marshal to leave the room, patting him on the head.

Alex would be unable to make sense of who is entering and exiting the door. But now the mind games are over, and what he manages to discover would matter little.

He walks up to the neck stump and slips a cyanide pill down the throat towards the base. He may not be able to eat the whole thing, but he'll most certainly get far enough to swallow the capsule before the corpse inevitably falls from his mouth.

Marcus then quietly wanders towards the rear end of the room, waiting for Alex to again pass out so he can clean the room.

Barely an hour passes when Alex finally falls asleep. With a full belly and an intense amount of emotional exhaustion, Marcus knew that he would once more retreat behind his lids.

He cleans the remainder of the head. He bags it before taking a jar filled with a rotting stomach off the tiny table behind the chair, the jar's vile scent masking his own so Alex could not sense anything else. But Marcus does wonder why the man never seemed appalled at the invasive smell. Perhaps he had mistaken it for something else?

He stuffs it inside a potato sack lined with plastic underneath with a zip lock mouth. It won't draw too much attention. When in town and out of his car, anyone who asks why he has a sack of potatoes, they will only be met with a casual "why not".

A tactile glance spans across the room, Marcus considering his next few actions with aught but crucial and meticulous consideration, because the next few hours that pass are important… because of the cyanide.

The thick cellulose layer over the capsule will dissolve in a few days' time and he's going to feel some discomfort for it but he'll likely not place the feeling as anything significant over everything else he's going to go through. However, Marcus cannot guarantee his own success on the pill's delayed reaction nor the chance that it might simply pass through the system instead of staying inside.

Killing him would be easier, sure, but it doesn't fit with his plans. He's willing to take this chance, even if it is foolish and ill-advised, but he needs to see how people react to this madness, and how Alex will choose to live his life after this ordeal.

He digs into his pocket for his pliers, finding the key to his hideout first which he sets on the table. When he finds the pliers, he quickly snaps one of the links in Alex's cuffs.

Then he hears a rattling passed the door. He also hears Alex stirring, but he pays it little mind when Marshal comes bursting through, panicked and afraid. For a moment Marshal hesitates, but then he shakes his head then scurries to his father who leans down to hear him whisper.

"People are coming, Pa." When they began, he had asked his son to be wary of anyone who might interrupt their time here and to alert him immediately if he'd seen anyone. His son asked no questions on the matter, but it's clear that the uncertainty has left his son with much discomfort. He doesn't know what is right or wrong anymore, and the vivid fear in Marshal's eyes tells him that the unknown only furthers his apprehension.

He pats him on the head and tells him to head for their secret passage and he'll find him by the van. Marshal only nods as Marcus hands him a key to the van, kept in his breast pocket, before he runs off.

Marcus turns, and heads for the table to grab his hideout key, only to find that they have vanished. Were he given more time, he'd have figured out where they had gone, but his time is limited.

_Damn it all._

Marcus runs out the door, slamming it behind him for good measure so he can startle Alex awake and draw the intruder's attention.

He emerges into the dark of the warehouse and spots a set of lights by the main entrance. They move cautiously, peering into the dark. He knows who they are, officers Sam and Bogo both.

He does not fear them, however. Their lights give off their position and he can most certainly avoid them, even if one of them can see in the dark.

His movements are careful as he slides behind the tall shelving, slipping out of their sight without nary a sound they can hear.

They're not well enough into the warehouse to even find the rooms they were in, much less himself in the dark a ways away from it. He sneaks towards another crate, inching ever closer to the gap in the wall he can slip through.

His muscles tense, but only to keep himself still. For he is a creature so sure of himself that he will escape that any mild fear of being caught is lost to him.

Then – as if on cue – Alex opens the door slowly, terrified eyes piercing the dark.

"Hey!" Sam shouts at him, making the wolf flinch.

Alex doesn't know any better, doesn't know that the voices behind the blinding lights up ahead are actually his salvation, so he mistakes them for a threat, like the disembodied voice that has haunted him. So he runs off into the dark, fighting for his night vision to adjust in time to escape his "captors".

Sam and Bogo think it might be Carrion, running off into the dark. So they too give chase, fumbling in the dark as they do. And the commotion that causes gives Marcus all the incentive he needs to escape, slipping away into the sudden rain of that cold night.

He eludes them, running passed several warehouses towards his van. In the distance behind him, within the misty blur of the rain, he can see the flashing lights of the police, and perceives even the shapes that move over them, recognizing the officers.

It only takes a moment for him to come up with an estimate of the arrivals. Only a handful, a small enough number to elude with his vehicle so he doesn't need to hide it and run, which would not be ideal. He'd already lost his keys, he isn't about to lose his van too on the off chance they might find it here.

He plunges into the rain, slightly fearful for only his son's health in this weather and nothing else.

He finds Marshal already inside the van's passenger seat, drying himself with a rag that he hands to his father. Marcus takes it and stuffs it into the sack along with his pliers. He'll burn it all when they get home.

Marcus finds the keys already in the ignition, and he is thankful of how clever his son is.

In the next moment, they are gone, disappearing in the haze of a coming storm.

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

Bogo slams his fist onto the desk, scattering papers with abandon as he clutches his forehead. Frustration pours out of his tense form, body quaking as his fingers curl tensely. For weeks he's managed to keep his cool, but the loss of an entire gerbil family becomes itself a hefty blow.

He looks up at the whiteboard, a calendar jotted down on it showcasing names and deaths. And each one is a failure, a countenance to their inability to catch Carrion, a demon who runs rampant still, taking another or more every single day, and in the full month they've been here, they've come no closer to catching him.

The briefing room he's in is thankfully empty and relatively soundproof, so his frustrations are meted on the furniture without interruption. A preferable scenario, as he wouldn't want to worry the deputies, but the loneliness only adds to the weight, bearing down a burden already monumental.

Sam comes into the room with the intention to dole out her own frustrations, only to find that Bogo has already begun.

She closes the door behind her quietly, but the click of the lock in the isolated room is enough to draw his attention.

Their eyes meet with a startled look about them, but they aren't really looking at each other. As if for the first in a long time, they finally take a good look at themselves, mirrored in the other in the pale light peeking out of the windows.

They're in shambles, a right mess of themselves lingering in the hard lines drawn across their features, painting their exhaustion and grief in broad strokes.

So when Sam approaches him with a put-upon smile – knocking her forehead to his – she sighs deeply asks him as she would ask herself… if he wanted to go get some coffee.

Wordlessly he follows her out of the room, a stoicism on their faces the moment they breach the door, and would continue in the car, even when they are alone.

He's driving now, as he usually would, eyes locked onto the road with some unbridled focus. But she can tell by the way he intentionally slows down that his mind is elsewhere. And if her hands were lost in some similar busywork, then perhaps she might have acclimated the same mien.

She looks over to him in the hopes of distracting herself, but all she finds is more grief for herself. She sees him tightening his grip on the wheel, and she dares to speak but bites her tongue. Because between them is a show of strength they both hide behind, that their stoicism is put up to bolster the other in the illusion that at least one of them is handling it. But it means that neither of them are willing to surrender that impression of stability, for fear of what lies behind it.

And what would they surrender it for? Just to open up their feelings? If that achieves nothing, pushes them no further, then they would have broken their middling control of their sanity for less than nothing.

But she wants it. And unbeknownst to her, he wants it too.

She feels like she's losing him in a fog. Despite sharing the same pain, she feels further away from him than they've ever been… and since they used to _hate_ each other, that's saying a lot. Because he's distant and won't even crack a joke, so cold and lost on the job that torments them both that she isn't quite sure if he knows she feels it too.

When they reach Catfrani, they sit there in the car for a moment.

She can hear his bated breathing settle beneath the thick roving mass that is his chest, rising and falling with heated breath that coils out of his uneven core. And when he settles, he looks up at her.

She almost gasps, causing her cheeks to darken in embarrassment, but he doesn't pay it any mind, if he'd caught it at all. Instead he smiles at her, weak but genuine, a desperate plea to save him from himself. The one she casts his way is similar, asking the same for herself.

It is a moment of clarity, some comfort that breaks away from the strong front they put out. But the moment is ephemeral, and as they enter the diner to get some coffee, they laugh and talk as if nothing is wrong.

That is what seals their fate, dooms them to pull further and further away from each other. Because as the days go by, and all they do is pretend, even when alone together. And it tears them apart.

It would take them years to realize that it was never Carrion that broke that partnership. It was themselves, locked behind that hubris. Fearful of their own weakness, hiding it behind some errant stricture of pride, which – in all its irony – would become the very thing that undermines them.

**~͡~̧~̷̵̢͡͏o͝͝0́͢҉͢O͟0̸̕͝ǫ̡͟҉͏~̡͜͠~̴̵̛̕~̴͘͢͡**

_Rumor. Somewhere in it – usually on the tail end – is a shred o' truth. Sometimes it's the jealousy or malice by the one who made it, other times it's the singular detail blown out of proportion to create the lie. It's these that one most observant tends t' filter out. But then there are those that don't have those kind of holes… the kind of rumors that one such as myself could benefit from. And with the manner o' my work, I can peruse them promptly. Without detection. With all the subtlety of the truth at the tail end of a rumor._

_~Marcus Hector in his autobiography: "The Wrong Truth" whose first and only draft was promptly destroyed when Marcus realized that it could teach people how to get away with murder_

**~̷̧́͡͝~̨̀̕͟͡~̸̛́o͝0̷̡̧͜O҉̸̶͝0͏̡͟͡o̕~̡̀~̴̀̕̕͠~̨͞͞**

Deputies Hamish and Lana are partners on the force and… rumored lovers. And since one is a hyena and the other an ocelot, neither of their respective parents like that idea very much. Especially since it promises no grandchildren.

On top of ongoing investigations of a serial kidnapping, one would think that the public would pay it little mind. But this is a town that revels in distraction when things get tough, and heated gossip serves as welcome respite nonetheless.

But perhaps the rumor holds no merit, but Marcus pays particular attention to it anyway. It holds promise after all, an opportunity waiting to happen.

He begins by first keeping in mind their station wagon's license plate. So as he goes out to make deliveries each day, he keeps an eye out around noon for them.

It is easy to follow someone when they have a prospective pattern. And with them, figuring one out is not difficult.

Lunch break for the deputies provides them with an hour to themselves, an hour where they can choose to spend it away from the rumor mill, to get away and bask in their love in secret. And of course they would spend every single day to abuse that fact.

It doesn't take long for him to notice that they leave the station for that break, and so he plots out a course for where they go off to. Following them would draw too much attention, however, prevailing him with the subtle approach instead.

He makes his rounds doing deliveries, rearranging his pathing so he can come to particular places along the deputies' supposed route to their hideaway. And it takes him three days to find it.

He makes a delivery at City Hall. Meeting with Mayor Anita with a pie and some dinner rolls in her office before coming back downstairs to spot Marty Amello, a sales consultant. They greet each other with a promise of coffee at his bakery. A quiet grin passing through Marcus's lips as he walks away, because he'd discovered Marty's new jogging route just yesterday and would take him coming morning. He would also be the one to report his sudden disappearance with that promise of coffee irretrievably broken.

Out on the road, by that time as he hops into his van, and spots Hamish and Lana's station wagon driving west before taking the next right up north. The glance he makes their way last only a second or so before he drives off himself.

The next day he makes a delivery to the Banana District in the west, meeting a kindly old deer who is still very much worried about her neighbor: Alexander Wolfgang. For a moment he feels some shame for instigating her concern, but he pushes the feeling aside.

He leaves her rather swiftly as he patiently eyes the road for a minute before driving off. Their relative consistency allows him to catch up with them without having to look like he's waiting. So when a minute passes and he's already begun driving, they pass him by and continue north towards Stable Village, but not into it.

He doesn't know where they go from there but it doesn't matter. He'll try again tomorrow.

And come that next day, he's at the east end of town amongst the warehouses, making a delivery to Church Cancri, a raccoon architect who's trying to tear down one of the empty structures so he can build a house for his family as a surprise.

However, when he arrives, he finds that Church's family has discovered his little project and Church's wife and budding daughter express their concerns about becoming social pariahs stuck in the barely occupied region of the town.

Church tells them about the sheer scale of a home with such a large lot, and that maybe they might make the area more enticing for other people to maybe come live in it again. But then the daughter meekly explains that she's afraid of the teenagers who live in the empty apartment building just outside of the warehouse area and his wife then backs their daughter up by telling Church that living in such an isolated area would be dangerous with a serial killer in town.

The raccoon knows they're right, but he's already worked so hard on building them a new home that the idea of just abandoning it frustrates him, despite its potential ramifications. They explain that they're okay with losing the money, but he's the one who handles all their finances and he doesn't think either of them understand the complications this will cause if they don't push through, so it hits another nerve and he can't control his mouth when he erupts and says things he doesn't mean.

And when he does, Marcus decides to leave their order with the construction team who are awkwardly shuffling about on the side.

"I hate to see 'em like this," Gil, one of the construction workers says, the fat of his ursine belly rolling onto his lap as he sits on a crate.

"Try not t' worry too much," Marcus comforts, laughing quietly, "they're all love, that family. Just give 'em a day and they'll be right as rain come the mornin'." He hands the man a bag of the assorted breads he's promised to bring, hefting the weight in both his hands. "Let 'em know they can pay me back anytime. Let 'em sort out their issues first."

Gil nods happily, some of the men coming together at the smell of freshly baked goods alone. "You're all heart, Marcus. I'll see you around."

Marcus nods in return. "Now I've got to run. Need t' make one last delivery before headin' home." He leaves the scene and drives off, but he doesn't make it to the end of the warehouses. He instead drives silently to another warehouse down the line, waiting patiently and remaining out of sight.

The area is rather vast and he'd noticed that this particular spot, just a few buildings away, is littered with cigarettes. And since Church is a smoker, he figured this'd be the place he'd go to after his argument.

Church comes as expected, discarding a cigarette into a pile, but before he can light a second one, he spots Marcus waiting for him.

"Oh, Marcus," comes the raccoon's scratchy voice. He looks about, seeing if there's anyone else there, like one of his workers. "How'd you know I'd be here?"

Marcus only points at his pile of discarded, half-smoked butts, which he should really get to cleaning.

"Oh," Church says affirmatively. Then he adopts a somber expression, leaning against the wall. "I suppose you wanted to get paid?"

Marcus shakes his head, his expression sodden but sagely. "That's not why I'm here. You had yourself a little spat there and I figured that since your wife has the only car and you need more than a minute to breathe and collect yourself, I figured I'd take you home to your family after my delivery. You'll have about an hour to think things over that way instead of havin' to drive home with that scary look on your face."

"My face isn't scary…"

Marcus sighs, shaking his head. "It is to your daughter, and it'll worry your wife. They raise good points, the both of 'em, but so did you. And I know 'em, they'll cave just to make you smile again, even if it might not be in their best interest to do so."

This causes Church to snap at him. "So you think I should just give this all up!?" But then he takes a good look at Marcus who is none too pleased with his reaction. He quickly retracts, eyes doing all the apologizing that is necessary.

"I'm not sayin' you're wrong," Marcus continues, "and I'm not sayin' your family is either. But ya'll need to talk this out like a family and sort it out _that_ way. A move like this – whether done or abandoned – should be based on more than just a moment's frayed emotions."

"You're… you're right." He looks at his cig which, he promptly tosses onto the closed trash bin. "I'll need a breather, yeah."

Marcus gives him a small smile as he pats him on the shoulder. "C'mon, we can talk on the way. Maybe you can tell me how you intend to be less annoyin' too since I'm doin' ya' a favor."

Church laughs at him. "You sure you're willing to put up with me? I'm not sure you'll survive my puns, and I'm not itching to crash and die today."

"You come up with another lamb pun and I'll happily put us both out of our misery fast enough t' never regret anythin'."

The raccoon hops into the passenger seat, but Marcus doesn't go for the driver's seat just yet. He opens the van's side door and hops in. "Hey, Church, mind helpin' me move some o' these trays?"

The man happily obliges, coming out of his seat and crawling into the van beside him. Marcus points to a spot where some shelving is lining the wall. Marcus grabs some empty trays still covered in powdered sugar which he instructs would need to be stacked on the shelves.

Church takes the first set as Marcus continues to gather trays. Church finds that there is little room for the next set on all the easy to reach shelves. So he reaches to stack them on the top but comes with no success. Instead, he climbs up just a little higher and distractedly reaches back for the next tray set only to find Marcus grab his arm.

A blade swiftly meets his temple.

Church falls back into Marcus's arm as he deposits him onto some of the wax plastics strewn about the floor. He wraps the man in them before pulling out some large cling wrap hidden inside of a built-in toolkit. Marcus then slowly pulls out the hunting knife out of his skull, letting the backed up blood pour inward into the closed plastic before he wraps the raccoon fully.

Then he drives off and exits the area, a sigh of relief pouring out of him. He'd been planning this catch for a week already, making sure that the Fyfly kids offhandedly hear about the new house so they can gossip it to Church's daughter. It would only have been a matter of time before they'd show up here, and he'd made sure to deliver them an express order ahead of time the minute he hears that the man's wife and daughter would be coming.

He drives briskly as to not have the bound body bounce about back there, but he could always attribute the noise to some loose trays anyway, were any to ask.

But perhaps even having a body in the back is dangerous, but some risks have to be taken. Besides, he won't be out for long anyway.

Right now it's half passed noon, and it's likely that Hamish and Lana are already at their hideout. But Marcus has a hunch where they'll be, and he's willing to take another day scoping them out if he's wrong.

He normally isn't.

There is a dirt road into the forest that crests into a hill north of town. It isn't a very pretty spot and much of the sight is blocked by the trees, but it leads to nowhere but back out of the forest, so it serves itself well as a quiet place for two clandestine lovers to hideaway in.

All Marcus does is skim the north end of town on his way out, and when he sees the dirt road, all he takes note of is the tire pattern which belongs to their station wagon. Now equipped with all the certainty he needs, he heads home to prepare tonight's dinner.

The next day he gets one of his regular orders, an express delivery to one Carmela Dixon, who is happily spending her old age in her cottage in the northwest. The parking lot clearing that end of the collective cottages is as far as any. And just like the rest of the parking clearings in town nestled for the cottages, the path to any of the homes is a ways away on a beaten dirt path.

Marcus could always say he got lost on the way, but he'll make his delivery on time. He knows a shortcut down a steep hill that he used to slide down as a kid. That's actually why he knows Carmela so well. He'd gotten a few scrapes here and the old koala would happily bandage him in exchange for his company.

But the man has another agenda, one he'll clear rather quickly. Because off the dirt paths is an incline up a hill, the same hill Hamish and Lana will be stopping at.

He approaches the treeline that hugs the road, quickly spotting the station wagon parked inside. He observes them from a distance, obscured by thick autumn bark.

They're having a conversation, one that should have been serious but neither of them can keep straight faces. Lana, the ocelot, then gives her boyfriend a pair of bedroom eyes. The hyena then laughs as she reaches for his pants, and he makes his excuses, still laughing.

She pouts, but only playfully as her boyfriend scrambles out the door, quickly undoing the belt of his pants on his way down the hill.

Marcus approaches carefully from behind as Hamish pees on a tree. When he's done, he pulls up his underwear and is about to button his trousers before zipping, but Marcus won't let him go much further.

On this slope, he hides beside a large rock with a flat top. He takes slow steps to stand in front of the stone, then bolts off it in one push of his legs. A swift kick behind the knee causes the taller hyena to yelp and kneel, when he does so his head falls on level with Marcus's chest. Then, quickly, he grabs the canine's head before giving it a quick snap.

He falls with a dull thud onto the autumn leaves, as lifeless as they are.

"Hame? You trip in your own piss or something?" Lana calls from a distance, the hint of amusement in her voice.

He could have gagged him to muffle the cry but he knows Hamish is accident prone, and that Lana thinks it's hilarious.

Abusing that fact will work in his favor, doing just so as he drags Hamish to the rear of the tree he'd used. He props him up in a sitting position behind it, making sure to hide his hand on his stomach so the rear angle almost looks like he's covering his mouth to stifle his laughter. He then pulls out some wire to tie his legs, taking the rest of the slack trail behind him as he moves away from the body.

The pair of them clearly aren't very cautious, so she's still keeping her guard down. But as he approaches the vehicle once more, he watches her carefully, seeing that the long silence and lack of response from her boyfriend is starting to worry her.

She shakes her head, thinking it's some stupid prank. She almost reaches for the phone to call for backup as was advised by the ZPD, but she hesitates.

Marcus knows she wouldn't make the call if there's any chance of uncertainty. She wants to preserve the fact that her relationship with a hyena of all things is kept a secret and being asked about some hideaway spot where they go to spend some alone together won't bode well for that. And she certainly can't trust the rumor mill in a small town to stay away from her folks.

Shame, he knows she feels it. Marcus understands that it will keep her from making the safest decision. A sympathetic part of him thinks it quite cruel that her own parent's close-mindedness has ultimately put their daughter in harm's way.

And she will not survive the encounter that decision has brewed.

She comes out of the vehicle – a fatal mistake – peering into the forest for Hamish. "This isn't funny!" she calls out, her voice quivering in her throat.

She eyes down the hill and spots Hamish leaning against a tree, and with his arm up, probably trying to smother his own uncontrollable laughter. Her relief is vivid then, letting herself sport a coy smile.

Marcus anticipates her reaction, readying the wire in his hand.

"Hame, come on out," she calls out.

He then tugs the wire to shift his body inward behind the tree. To Lana it looks like he's shuffling away to hide himself further.

She only shakes her head as she approaches the tree, situating herself behind the rock platform, getting ready to pounce him. And in this time, Marcus aligns himself with the top of the same rock platform as he gets on it.

He needs to use the elevation since Lana is so much taller, and the same trick won't work on her. So he crouches and streamlines his body before pushing forward. He slides along the top of the stone, his legs spread out before quickly clasping around Lana's waist, holding her in place.

"Hey!" she complains for barely a second as the rest of Marcus's body slides up. His arms then close around her neck, snapping it.

His legs let go of her, letting her fall. His legs dangle over the stone as he looks down at them for a moment, admiring the successful hunt.

He gets up and walks off towards the station wagon. He slips on a glove as he opens the door and takes the key. He'll drop off the car tomorrow night as a message to the station, and he'll take a deputy with him then too as another victim.

Promptly he locks the door, walking towards the bodies which he'll stuff into his van.

The rest of the delivery goes as planned, and Marcus considers just how long he could leave a prime specimen like Carmela alive. He also briefly wonders what koala tastes like.

**~~̴͘͟~͠o0̴͟O͢0͝o~̷́~~̶͟**

_We had spent so much time thinking Carrion was nothing but a deranged madman, a serial killer with little remorse, wild and cunning like the monster in all those urban legends. But it is when we looked away from that ideology – taking a sympathetic step in the other direction – that we found the truth of Carrion's identity. We were all but prepared to lose a friend and face that sodden cunning, to see him surrender gracefully like the pained and tortured man we thought we'd see hiding behind the murders… but instead we were met with that same apathetic creature we realized that couldn't be the Carrion he was supposed to be. He was nervous during our conversation, for whatever reason, we didn't know. But it's clear to us now that Marcus's façade as the very monster we were after, sadistic and unrelenting, was all an act… So there lies even more unanswered questions: Why was the real Marcus hiding? And what for?_

_~Judy Hopps, in what she had supposed would be her final report on the Bronc Town Abductions_

**~́~̕̕͝~̢́o0Ò̸̧0̨o͝~̵̀~~**

It is nearing the end of November, and Marcus sees that his work finds no end to soothe his hunger. Already he has sixty-eight of some veritable palate he has tried and already the variety is wearing thin. However, it does seem like trying two different species at once offers the kind of diversity he's looking for. But as he sits there on his dining table for dinner, he dreads the kind of work that having to regularly take more than one each time will bring.

He also considers perhaps not making it a daily occurrence. Eating an entire hippo for dinner might have seemed gluttonous, but he can't leave any meat behind that isn't infected somehow and he'd rather not store any away now that he's out of a large freezer. Besides, he can't leave any to waste, that would only do his prey a disservice.

He shakes his head, maybe he _should_ get a new freezer. It'll set his earnings back a bit since he's already spent so much turning his basement into his hideout. He wouldn't want to put his family in debt. It'd draw too much attention and his son wouldn't like that very much either.

A rustling from upstairs surprises him, his son's groaning filling the air as he slinks his way down the staircase.

"Marshal?" he calls out, waiting for him to come into view.

He finds the piglet clutching his own stomach, a deeply set unease coiling through him. "I don't feel so good, Pa."

Quickly he joins his son's side in the center of the living room, a million different things running through his head as he checks his temperature. "What happened, son?"

"I think I – _Hrk!_ " he huffs, not quite able to let his voice out, so Marcus carries him to the dining table, seating him. "Sorry, Pa," he says with some difficulty, "I got hungry last night and took some of the meat raw. I thought it'd be okay but…"

Marcus has half a mind to smack his son for that, but that's a step he's never going to take. Taking his son to task is something one spares only with words, so he sits his son down and warns him of the danger of eating raw meat. Pigs may be a strong sort, but they've long since evolved incapable of engorging raw meat with such abandon. Even eating the bone is favorable over _that._

Marshal then feels he needs to tackle the problem with traditional methods, as a show of personal strength, which is to endure it until it goes away. Marcus indulges him and watches him toss about until he's better in the next half hour.

Satisfied with his health, Marcus sits across from him. "It's the weekend, boy, why aren't you out with your friends?"

"I don't think they understand me anymore," he responds neutrally, almost empirically, "and I figured that if everyone besides Audrey thinks I'm strange, then it might have the wrong people asking questions here at home."

Marcus blinks at his son, not quite sure what to make of it. He's surrendered the social needs any child should have in order to preserve his father's continuing hunger. But what's worse is that he seems totally fine with it!

But it makes sense. Marcus was raised to see the town as family, that the relations are more than just blood, but Marshal had been raised differently, being taught to love his immediate family, even as it dwindles away. And in the last gasp of that philosophy turning only to one, Marshal recognizes the fact that the last of his kin is standing here in the room with him…

And so, Marshal would surrender anything for his father.

It dawns on Marcus then as he stands with quaking hands. His son is stripped of his innocence despite the innocuous look on his face. His youth, gone in the wind as he attempts to bear the burden of his father on his shoulders, enduring the sight of unspeakable horrors until he has grown numb to them.

He has accepted all the facets of his remaining family, because he was taught to see all that they do as virtue. And the things he's witnessed… does he now think that they're okay?

No… they _are_ okay, aren't they? It's the natural order of things, it's what nature intended of them. If they weren't capable of doing it in the past, then why breed them with such capabilities?

Why gift him with such an intellect that he'd never be able to use outside of a middling business venture in a town without business rivals? Why gift him with broad shoulders and a strong back – and the insatiable need to fortify them – without having to lift no more than a sack of flour?

Then he feels a sudden tug on his sleeve, pulling him out of his own mind as he stares dumbfounded down at his son.

"Can I try cutting the meat next time, Pa?" The question shocks Marcus more than it normally would.

He'd only ever ask that unless he intends to follow in his father's footsteps. And this life, living just off the razor's edge, a mere flick away from being caught by the police, lurking in the shadows, staring at people like choice cuts of meat… is that really the life he'd envisioned for Marshal?

He knows it isn't. Neither Karvina nor Raeger would have approved in the slightest. They wanted so much more for Marshal… and Marcus – left behind as the only remaining role model at his son's side – has deeply corrupted him, perhaps robbed him of normality.

So readily does he come to tears as he collapses to his knees, cradling his son. The heavy grief for his brother's death and then his wife's comes back in a fervent flood, burning through as his heart tightens, his world vanishing beneath his shut lids, leaving only the sensation of his son in his arms with him. And Marshal sobs too, even if he doesn't know why.

It is then that the hunger subsides, following his tears, and the cold calculating visage is lost to naught but a distant memory. And the man beneath emerges, a wide smile carrying over his pain, pushing over the sobbing mess he's made of his own face.

He puts a hand on his son's head. "I'm sorry, Marshal, I think I've forgotten ya' for a while…"

Marshal shakes his head, wiping away tears as he looks at his father in confusion. "No you haven't, Pa. I was always here and you'd paid attention to me."

And of course he doesn't understand that, but he takes comfort in that idea. Because it means he can still save him, that the shred of innocence he's seeing is something he can hold on to. That there is still some way he can grow to be better than him… that he doesn't have to be his father. That he can be _better._

As if waking up from a long nightmare, Marcus feels the part of him that is Carrion finally die. And the once insatiable hunger comes now as a foreign thought, as alien as being anything but a mammal.

And when the next day comes and no one disappears, there is some sense of familiarity washing over the town, an estranged sensation of that curse vanishing. However wary it may have become, the town seems content in simply trying to forget that Carrion even existed.

Though the damage is already done, in the very least Marshal can grow up never having to lead that kind of life ever again.


	21. Ghosts of Yesteryear (pt. 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we've been delayed for so long. >< But, hey! We're here again! Just about done too.
> 
> Forgive us, we've had to graduate from college, build a new house, and sort out our new schedules given that we're of the working class now.
> 
> That said, we're only a chapter and an epilogue away from the ending. XD We'll be working tirelessly to get it done around July. (Cause, remember, we still have an Epilogue and a Trivia).
> 
> At any rate, we're happy to be back, and likely here to stay since things have wound down.

The world is a swirl of some bitter catharsis as Bogo, for all his grit and stature, feels little more than two feet tall, slumping against his car in the station's parking lot like a wilting shrub. He doesn't want to be here any longer than he already has – the shame is already too much to bear – but he supposes it can't be helped.

He looks back into the station through the glass, spotting Sam pacing about as she stares at Creed's door from across the room. She's been waiting for the old bear to finish his meeting just so she can give him a proper goodbye. Bogo would have done the same had he not essentially done that already with last night's round of drinking whilst Sam was out with Mona.

He is approached by a rhino, whose eyes fix forward in his direction, an almost determined look to him. But it's softened by something, a look that is almost worrisome.

Bogo gives him a raised brow, more to inquire why he's here rather than to pick his mind.

"Deputy Javan," the rhino introduces himself with an almost nervous twinge, "I'm Detective Taepur's apprentice?"

"Don't worry, I remember," he replies easily, letting Javan breach the topic as to why he's even chosen to approach. Bogo won't pry, he doesn't care for it.

The momentary silence is almost awkward before the rhino manages to grit his teeth and just go for it. "Look… I'm sorry about the case."

"I can imagine everyone else in town feels much the same." It was a difficult decision for the mayor to send the ZPD back home, but Mayor Ani thought it best to send them off, even if only to officiate in some sense that the case has closed, albeit unsolved. In the very least, it would offer some comfort for its citizens… but only some.

Bogo sighs. It's a thought he doesn't much like. Anita Greycastle will end her term as mayor in the coming year. Likely, it won't be enough time for her to fix all the damage that's been done. But she can only hope that her successor will prove more capable than she ever was. Hopes aren't high though, as the next one is likely to be another city-monger with ulterior motives, wanting to continue the renovating projects in the east to build this place into a city, and that's just another set of issues no one wants to deal with.

"So what will you do now?" Javan asks, leaning against the same car.

"Go home. Solve a different case. And try to live everyday thinking I can get back on my feet."

Javan hums in understanding. "Typer always says that one failure does not define you."

Bogo almost laughs. "How about sixty-eight? More, even."

Javan only blinks at him, bewildered.

The buffalo sighs, leaning his incredible weight against the car behind him, its contours pressing uncomfortably into his back in a subconscious attempt to shut his own mouth, but the words spill out of him anyway. "In this line of work, measures by failed cases and people lost actually does little to describe the true weight of our oath."

Bogo slumps and looks away, drawing hard lines across his eyes as something vicious and old boils beneath the surface, a fear he has carried with him for years suddenly writhing across his features. "Those things are statistics we put in our reports, numbers the media uses to grab people's attention, stories told to future officers as a cautionary tale or a point of reference but they're more than that… You stare across the faces of the deceased's loved ones – friends, family, colleagues – and you remain witness to that pain. Each person has lived through the labors of their mother and father, breathed life into those around them…"

He stifles a gasp, grit back by vivid pain coursing through his veins. "They've been sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, students, neighbors, colleagues, friends, lovers and a great many innumerable, _precious_  things." He looks to him with an intensity rolling through the dark shades in his auburn eyes, aging before him as the weight of his burdensome task is all but realized. "You take away the life of one and you destroy so many more because everyone is missed, one way or another… You do not fail the dead, Javan, you fail those they've left behind."

There is a seriousness to him that is deeply haunted, clutched beneath his bruised knuckles as some incomparable sorrow consumes him, leaving behind the visage of a broken man who carries a cross too great to carry on his own.

Javan dares to empathize with him, but he can't. He's a victim like the rest of the town, having lost friends and colleagues to Carrion in these grueling two months, so he can't possibly look at it like Bogo does. They depended on the ZPD – hell,  _he_ depended on them – and now it seems Bogo cannot rid himself of that idea, knowing that he has let all of them down.

Bogo sees that Sam has managed to get a hold of Creed, and the two make an attempt to talk animatedly before immediately giving up. There is the same mirrored ache between them, and Bogo would rather not see where that goes.

Instead his gaze trails away, catching a glimpse of Detective Taepur looking back at the pair, nodding, then heading out of the door with his head low and fedora tipped down.

"Javan," he says, meeting the rhino's uncertain gaze. "Do yourself a favor and make that detective of yours proud. After all he's been through, you might save him that way." He knows that Taepur looks at this young man like the son he's never had, so perhaps encouraging him to do some good for the old ocelot might serve this town well, however small it might be. _This town will need a lot more to get back on its feet though._

"I'll do my best," Javan manages, clearly not sure if that is even the proper answer. Bogo shrugs it off however, not minding the weakness in his tone for as long as he means it in the end.

Sam is on her way back by now, sparing a final glance back at Creed and giving him a smile he can remember for as long as they're still apart. The older bear has been her only rock outside of Bogo during this entire ordeal, a father figure she can pour her frustrations out on. And since the man has done nothing but witness her downtrodden throughout their stay, she hopes the smile she gives him is enough to apologize for troubling his old heart.

Javan makes to walk away, but then he turns back to face Bogo one more time. He begins almost nervously, but he pushes on as he notices how Bogo stares at him attentively. "It  _may_ not mean much but… it was comforting, knowing you two were here working the case. In the very least, it eased off a lot of the pressure."

It's a small sentiment to Bogo, but it's something. A point of some meager comfort that ultimately won't make him feel much better, but it's  _something._ And for that he can be grateful.

Bogo's tiny, tired smile is pulled from his lips as the tension in his features vanishes in a single, steady breath. And Javan can feel the way that Bogo – even if only for a moment – forgets his pain.

He walks off then, leaving a passing greeting to Sam who walks solemnly by, giving Javan the same smile, albeit awkwardly.

She sidles up to Bogo, bumping him in the shoulder to knock him out of his vivid stupor, nabbing the keys locked at his waist. "I'm driving, Bo," she chirps, hopping into their squad car.

"Fine. I was hoping for a relaxing drive but I suppose I have to stay awake so you don't crash us."

She scoffs, punching his arm the minute he slides down his seatbelt.

They drive off then, letting themselves into the remaining mirth struggling to pull itself out of Sam's awkward, almost cathartic, encounter with Javan. Bogo tries to keep it going too, exchanging banter with her for as long as he feels himself able to.

But the chatter soon dies with outstretched road expanding before them. And the moment they stop speaking, is the moment that all that they tried to ignore comes rushing back. The weight burrowing deep within their muscles, coiling menacingly in their frames, sapping that strength as something eerie and unseen seems to tug at their backs in the direction of the Broncs, as if to call to them, beckoning their return, or alluding to it.

They try to stem the tide however, to push back that wave of some overwhelming torment still looming behind, but no words dare come, none that would pass their lips that might feel disingenuine. And the unease born from that carries on, even as they climb the mountain that cradles the south end of Zootopia. They're so close to home… but it doesn't feel like it anymore.

And as the horizon gleams that shining beacon of a city back into their sights, they realize just how much of them has been left behind as they find themselves looking back for the briefest of moments, knowing well that that town is still with them, haunting and omnipresent, darkening their skies evermore.

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

There is a faint cheering that buzzes in Calvary's drunk-addled ear from the others in the bar. But it's white noise off the thrumming in his skull, beating against his head in synch with the racing in his heart.

He blinks away the spots as he shakes his head, the fluorescent neon lights beaming off the bar around him only adding to the haze still coiling over his senses.

Another lion, Cormack Fispatch, bobs from side-to-side before him, fists raised like a boxer. He is similarly drunk, though a little more irate. His mane is damp, slick with alcohol… and Calvary only vaguely remembers dumping it on the guy. And he certainly doesn't remember if it was on purpose or not.

Calvary's arms raise then, hands balling into fists in a defensive stance as he grins at the frustrated lion.

He knows Cormack is a lefty, seeing as how he was drinking with that hand, he keeps his eye on the man's left shoulder. Almost immediately he sees it twist, a hook he sees coming a mile away, and Calvary – despite having almost none of the strength he had in high school – blocks it with contemptuous ease.

Historically, Cormack has always been a heavy-hitting and aggressive man despite his usually calm demeanor, so Calvary expects the hook. And of course he expects it again with the man's right. But instead of blocking, he knocks it aside with a forceful push, causing Cormack to flinch in shock.

Calvary follows up then, right fist sailing towards him in a straight punch. The blow rings in his ears when his fist collides with the man's face, his shit eating grin perpetuating still, even as the man falls on his back.

Cormack doesn't have the faculties to stand up, but he's not unconscious. Instead he wallows in his defeat beneath the haze of his addled mind, accepting his loss with all the grace a drunk man can muster… which is akin

Calvary roars excitedly, giving the entire room a challenging glare as he spies the rest of the Rogue's Gallery patrons. And all too easily do they step up to the plate, coming out to throw their fists his way, inadvertently colliding with each other, throwing the room into a chaotic frenzy.

It's a bar brawl if he's ever seen one, and too quickly does he find himself weaving passed and striking at his assailants.

Calvary isn't ever as drunk as he says he is. His tolerance for alcohol is stronger than most, so he abuses the fact that no one is as heavy a drinker as he is, with clarity that rivals only the bartenders who sigh and groan as they wait for the excitement to die down.

A hippo manages to sneak up behind him as he's engaging a leopard, and before he knows it, he's being tossed into an empty table, crumbling onto the floor.

On his back and with the world upside down, he groans helplessly for a moment before he spies the front door swing open.

Javan steps out with Tali behind him, the pair scanning over the room.

Javan sighs, crossing his arms. "Another of these again. I swear, Tal, I'm not even surprised when the call comes in anymore."

"Jav, I hate to break it to you but it's better than the alternative." Tali wishes she didn't mean that but the town needs every bit of catharsis it can get. It's been a whole year since Carrion's disappearance and still no one's quite gotten over the incident yet.

Javan manages to spot Calvary staring at them from the floor, waving at them like an idiot. Javan, bemused by the sight, nudges Tali to get her looking at him. "Heh, hey, look, it's your boyfriend."

She deadpans. "Jav, please."

He rolls his eyes before straightening his lips in a slight line, giving her a small, understanding smile. "Go on and take care of him, now. I'll take care of it from here."

She's surprised at the offer, not willing to divulge how much she wants it, but she's also reluctant to take it. "I can't have you doing all the work."

"Ha!" he laughs. "Tal, I have the sinking feeling that if you manage to get that man in order, I'm sure we'd have a lost less bar fights to deal with."

He pushes her on and she finally walks off to the downed lion. Coming here to stop a bar fight isn't actually something they're forced into doing every week, but Javan knows full well why Tali always insists on taking up the task anyway.

Javan presses through the crowd towards the bar, shooting aggressors in his way a cold look so they back off.

Tali makes it to Calvary and hoists him up.

"Mink!" he greets happily. "Fancy meetin' you here!"

She sighs, not quite sure what to do with him this time. Normally she'd sit him down and talk his ear off before letting him go with a warning, maybe sneaking in a smack at the back of his head once or twice but tonight she actually wants to  _try._

So, wordlessly, she takes him by the wrist and leads him out the door, him stumbling after her as he struggles to keep pace, but not before he manages to grab an entire bottle of whiskey off someone's table.

Outside, they make it to a grass patch curling into the side of the building, which Calvary falls into when she lets go.

She looks down at the mess of a man before her, setting her hands on her waist. "I swear, Cal, can you maybe _stop_  pretending to be drunk?"

He scoffs and he pops the cap off the bottle with his clawed thumb. "So maybe I should try  _actually_ bein' drunk?" Calvary winks and laughs, mirth still burning in his lungs as what remaining alcohol in his system already starts to drain away. He shakes the bottle for emphasis then, getting ready to down it.

She snags the bottle out of his hand, groaning as she seats herself beside him. "Come on, Cal, you're making this difficult."

A desire to call her out quivers at his lips but they never leave him. Instead, he drowns his façade, smile falling as he looks away. "Y'know, it'd be easier if you just stopped comin' and let someone else deal with me."

She doesn't want to admit that she keeps coming back here for him, her pride won't let her, but she can't leave him to flounder about as she avoids the topic. "No one would treat you like I would," she whispers loud enough for only him to hear. "Everyone else would cuff you and put you in a cell for a day but not before they give you a few well-deserved jabs." She almost sounds like she's making a joke, but her face won't show it.

He laughs at the thought, but that dies as quickly as it comes, a bitter taste working its way into him. "At least you won't have to deal with me." Their eyes don't meet, content with staring at the ground as they resolve themselves to quietly contemplate just how far apart they are, and for Calvary to deeply regret having let that distance lie for as long as it has. He grits his teeth, cursing himself. "Put the onus on someone else. Ya' don't need t' see me like this."

"Someone has to look out for you, Cal." She knows the response is weak, and her delivery doesn't help in that regard, shrinking further and further as she struggles to keep herself from breaking into tears.

"And it doesn't have to be you."

"It won't be  _anyone else,_ Cal."

That part hits home harder than he is willing to admit. He'd lost some of his old friends to Carrion and it feels like he's lost it all. But there is someone else still… "Eli still might," he says.

Tali pulls up her knees to her face. "They have each other… there's a difference between them and us."

When Eli came back to town, she'd come with a loving husband, much to Calvary's dismay. But it gets worse, as the months roll by and her husband, Rostetler Rundi, suddenly becomes everything that Tali needed, heard her in ways no one else could. And it digs a pit in her stomach as she finds herself so captivated by a man she can never have, who is also married to her best friend of all things.

Calvary knows her pain, knows how deeply she's fallen away from her old life in pursuit of her dreams. And now her life's a lonely mess, much like his. So he feels bitter and petty, angry and unkind, a veritable amalgam of emotions that don't always add up but always serve to distract him. But he knows she isn't willing to fall into the same depravity… even though she's already reached some level of it.

"How's you and the married man?" he asks, much to her surprise.

She looks at him incredulously, but he looks as neutral as he sounds. And it's clear he's trying to mask his concern. She also sees that he's managed to take the bottle again but she can't bring herself to care.

Tali is downtrodden again, but she doesn't look away. "Please, Cal, I'm not in the mood for this…"

She feels nothing but a heavy shade of shame now, and all she can think of doing is justify herself to save face but the words don't come, not in front of Calvary, not in front of the man who sees right through it… especially not when he's pretty much in the same place as she is. The only difference being that he's drinking, right now even, downing whiskey like its water.

But as the liquor slips from his lips, he can't help but feel the pit in his gut, looking her up and down and hating himself for what he sees. "Y'know, it'd be so much easier if we were in love with each other instead, don't you think?"

She gives him a weary look, not quite sure if she understands or simply won't even try to. She gets up instead, trying her hardest not to think on what he's saying. "Cal, you're drunk and don't know what you're saying."

He gets up and steadies himself on the cement border between the grass and the rest of the pavement, walking along the line with ease. "See, officer?" he says, the ghost of a chuckle beneath his grin. "I ain't drunk." The smile vanishes as he stands before her. "I'm only pretendin'."

The intensity in his eyes almost terrifies her. Almost.

Instead she feels a desire burning through her, and a deep-seeded lust for some warmth that it pricks at her skin, begging her to give in, even if she knows it'll be wrong. Even if she knows the two of them can never find love in the other. And the most they can do with it is pretend.

Her expression shifts between confusion and annoyance, never settling. "What are you trying to say?"

He moves closer, letting the bottle fall from his hand and onto his tail that gently puts it on the ground. "I mean what I say." His hand rises to her waist, the other to her cheek. "Not hidin' anythin' behind it."

A desperate need for warmth overwhelms her, taking her swiftly as she no longer allows herself any doubt. And she surprises him by cupping his cheeks and kissing him first.

It is chaste at first. Tentative yet desperate, eyes closing as they revel in that sheer  _want._  But they don't feel anything outside of that primal desire, locking away that need for affection, settling only for this, whatever it even is.

Their bodies press together, and her hands slip from his cheeks to his mane. And his own takes the back of her head and stopping at the back of her neck. And when her tongue decides that it isn't willing to let him breathe anytime soon and tugs at his own, his hand on her waist decides to get adventurous.

It travels up her side, feeling the shape of her breast full in his hand. It trails down her back then up it before falling on her rear. He doesn't squeeze, deciding instead to pull her in so their nethers press firmly enough so she can feel his shape, earning a moan from her end.

And then their lips separate, eyes half-lidded and uncertain. Then he kisses her lips over and over again, each brief and featherlight, a genuine attempt at honest affection that they tell themselves is at least real  _enough._

His hand slowly crawls up her waist again, as they spend a moment to breath, wanting nothing more than to wash away that anguish burning still in each other's eyes. So he nudges his head forward to kiss her neck, his hand moving further up, cupping a breast as he sucks at her nape.

She gasps, only barely trying to push him away. "Cal…  _ngh…_  we're in public."

He stops only to whisper in her ear. "I'm not entirely convinced that you care."

She wishes she could prove him wrong, but she also doesn't. Shaking her head in idle frustration as she pushes him away just far enough to pull her chest off his, but still close enough for her tail to reach around him and take his whiskey bottle off the ground.

She tosses it in her hand, staring at it and considering what she is about to do. In that moment she can tell herself to stop, in that moment she's given herself enough clarity to walk away, but then she looks at Calvary, mirroring her expression… And surrenders to him as much as she surrenders to herself. "Ugh!  _Fuck it!_ "

She chugs his bottle, and pulls away, taking him by the hand as they make their way to her car.

So she falls into her backseat as he climbs over her, becoming one under the pale moonlight, pushing away the rest of the world that might call this anything but love.

But the question lingers still in their minds, haunting them endlessly as every climax brings back only the momentary clarity of what they're doing and if it even means anything. And so they do it again, and again, to surrender to that bliss for all that it offers, even if it isn't real.

But there is a moment when they wake up in her house come the following morning, eyes locking in the haze of that early wrought dawn, that perhaps they might call what they have  _is_  love. And in that moment – however brief – they believe it.

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

_"Sweet little thing was only eight when she found me in the park at the bottom of a bottle."_

Calvary awakes on a park bench, much like he does most mornings nowadays. He used to wake up on the Rogue's Gallery parking lot, but he's promised Tali he'd start _less_  bar fights now, though that hasn't stopped him from getting genuinely drunk nowadays. It's the most she can ask for, really. She won't deny him the only other catharsis he has outside of sleeping with her.

He sighs at the thought as it comes, thinking of Tali, one of his oldest friends, as nothing more than a warm body and a bed to share so they can stop feeling shitty about themselves at night. And just because the feeling is mutual doesn't make it any better.

Part of him maintains that he might actually feel  _worse._

Sitting up on his seat, he lets the wine slip from his fingers and shatter against the pavement. He feels like a ripe mess, head swinging from side to side as his mind sloshes about in his skull, and the scent of wine coming off the floor only adds to the haze coalescing before him, hardly caring that his feet are now wet with it. His headaches seem to only be getting worse at this point.

Then he has another one of his terrible, alcoholic ideas.

His hand reaches underneath the bench, knowing full well that his drunk self would never leave him with just the one drink, and he manages to pull out an entire bottle of absinthe. His eyes widen momentarily at it, not quite sure how in his mad venture that he'd come across something like this.

 _No doubt about it… I stole this thing._ Cause absinthe is not something you normally find in the Broncs. It's just a blackout waiting to happen. And as he pops the top with ease, he realizes that the thing's only half full… which explains why he doesn't remember anything from last night.

If he can get himself piss-drunk again, he can forget the headache for a few hours. Sure it'll get worse, but right now he's not in the mood for bright ideas. He raises it to his lips, but he never manages to down it as it is slapped out of his hand, then promptly lands in the tiny grip of a little eight-year-old otter.

He blinks once, twice, all at the floor before he turns to her with a confused look. She'd apparently jumped, slapped, then caught the bottle in one motion. He'd be impressed if she wasn't holding his current definition of a painkiller.

She shuffles in place, but not shyly. Her feet are slick with the wine, but it does nothing to perturb her. Her expression is serious and unerring but it doesn't maintain. Her features soften a moment later, eyes larger than they actually should be seem set to water at any moment. But her resolve pulls back all other emotions as the hard line across her lip settles into a tiny frown.

Calvary tries to scan the park for her mother or something but anyone he can manage to make out through his barely adjusting corneas all seem to blur into the rest of the colors in the background just a second after. He has no real grasp of his environment, he realizes, and so he feels as if he is trapped on a tiny island, inhabited by him with his bench, and this little girl with his bottle.

So he turns to his solitary companion, perplexed by her presence as if she were the one thing in the universe worth pondering.

He squints at her, leaning in just the slightest bit so he doesn't fall over, and gets a good look at her.

She hops onto the bench and puts the bottle beside her with one hand firmly on it. She takes a deep breath and exhales calmly, carrying with her a sense of self-control that he finds normally lacking in most people.

Then she speaks at a confident pace, slow enough that it almost sounds melodic, and never too fast for his addled mind to process. "Mommy and Daddy say that you're a bad man that everyone should avoid but I think you're just kind of lonely and need help. Drinking is very bad and Mommy says that it gets really bad for you when you get older…" She goes on and on and he squints at her, not quite sure what to make of her as she rambles on. She seems more inclined to just spew out the information, but it makes her just the tiniest bit nervous every time she spares a glance at him. But then, suddenly, her speech ends. " _So,_  that's why I'm here. What I want is to help."

He blinks, bewildered and perhaps picking apart his memory for the speech. He's still kind of overwhelmed cause he was actually paying attention and the info is still coming in. Then he catches up with her and remembers what she'd said at the end there, and scoffs. "Ya' can't help me, kid. Older, smarter people than y' have tried and they haven't gotten very far themselves."

"Isn't that cause they're your friends?"

He squints again. "What-?"

"Hm…" She looks away for only a moment, perhaps to think, before she immediately retains eye contact again. "Well, big brother Marshal pushes his friends away when he feels bad. He likes having alone time even if he really shouldn't, and his friends let him push them away because they want to give him alone time if he wants it so badly." She shrugs. "Sometimes friends give you what you want when they should be giving you what you need." She punctuates that last line as if she's quoting someone directly.

He blinks at her. No child should be concerning themselves with the intricacies of wants and needs, and yet here she is doing just that. It doesn't help that the innocuous look in her eyes only feeds his idle confusion. Because she isn't haunted by anything, no pain or suffering lingering in those eyes that might have forced her to grow up, and yet she's here lecturing him and  _making sense._

She shouldn't be like this, but then again, people in this town tend to surprise you.

"Huh," he intones, "you're pretty smart."

She smiles at that, cheeks flushing as she struggles to keep eye contact at this point. She then pats her little cheeks, shuts her eyes for a moment, then opens them again. "Me and my friend Jap like to talk a lot about things we learn, and we think like we're the same person sometimes. He says that when we're together, it's like we have two brains! So I guess we're pretty smart together."

He leans back, deciding to indulge her, perhaps glad that she hasn't managed to annoy him very much. "So, who do I talk to if I shouldn't talk to my friends, then?"

She looks shocked for a second before shaking her head and stifling her expression once more. "No, no, no – I'm not saying you shouldn't talk to your friends! Friends are important! You just… you have to tell them you need help."

He rolls his eyes. Of course she'd get a little preachy. Though he's surprised she doesn't use the _family_  card.

"And if my friends can't help?"

"That's when you go see a feelings doctor."

He tilts his head at her. " _Feelin's… doctor?_ "

"Yeah," she chirps excitedly, "a doctor you go see when you're not hurt or sick on the outside, but are on the inside."

"You mean a psychiatrist?"

"Yeah, that!"

Crossing his arms, he gives a sour look that makes her pout. "I am  _not_ gonna go see a psychiatrist," he says with a deadpan.

"But you have to talk to  _somebody._ "

His gaze is pointed, but she doesn't even flinch. "Then who?"

She puts a finger to her lip. "Hm…"

By this time he's had enough, so he picks up the bottle, her still attached to it, and he plucks her off. She dangles in his grasp and struggles a bit before he puts her back down. She only pouts up at him as she dusts herself off in an attempt to rub off the feeling of his sticky paws on her.

Then her eyes flash with further resolve. "Tomorrow," she says.

"What?"

"I'll come back tomorrow after talking to my friend Jap. I can tell you who to talk to after that."

He doesn't believe she'll actually come to surprise him again, so he decides to ignore her and takes a swig off his bottle.

She jumps to slap the bottle out of his hand but his grip is firm this time. She knows she can't stop him by force, so instead she sighs and looks away with a sad face. In the very least he can respect that she isn't being an insufferable brat, and so she gets to him. With a groan, he caps the bottle and tosses it behind him into the grass. It doesn't break, but the thud is enough to light her eyes up again.

He rolls his eyes once more before shutting them, ignoring her thoroughly this time. All he hears is her feet plodding about the wine covered pavement. Then he hears her mother call her name from a distance.

"Coming!" he hears her say before dutifully running off.

When she's gone, he gets up and goes for the absinthe again, taking a swig before sitting back down, wondering where he'd heard that name before. " _Hm… Kayla, huh?_ "

The next day she comes back as promised, but she isn't as chipper, further downtrodden at the fact that they meet where he's in no weaker a hangover from yesterday.

She only seems exasperated by that, sighing as she falls into the seat beside him.

"Talk to your friend, yet?" he asks, choosing to ignore the flask in his pocket for now.

"Nope. Jap is with his dad in the Crow's Nest."

He recognizes the context. "Oh, he's a Whitewood?"

She gasps, pleased that he knows them, almost causing her to jump in her seat. "Yup! You'd like him. He gets straight A's, like you did!"

He only manages to be surprised for a second, until he realizes what she means. "I see… I guess Ronald Whitewood told you about me?"

She nods. "Uncle Ron says you were very different before. What happened?" He takes the flask out of his pocket and shakes it about to answer her question, but she shakes her head. "No, that's what happened  _after._ Dad says that people like you only do that because something really bad happened to them before."

He doesn't answer, and she can tell he doesn't want to go there, so she doesn't press on.

"About yesterday…" he says.

"Yeah?"

"Ya' talked about friends but never family." He doesn't have any of his own anymore, what with them leaving him here to his own devices after he'd graduated from college, but an innocent thing like this shouldn't deny herself of it. "Don't ya' think family helps when you have problems like this."

"I do," she responds immediately, "but Dad says you don't have any."

He nods. He has a faint idea of who he is and who his daughter is and decides to steer the topic in that direction.

"Hey, yer' the Rivers's daughter, ain't ya?"

"That's me," she announces proudly, "Kayla Rivers!"

He grins, thinking he can mess with her for a bit. "So, Kayla, don't ya' know that it's common courtesy to introduce yourself to someone first before ya' go lecturin' them on their problems?"

He expects her to flounder in the face of forgetting etiquette, but her expression doesn't waver. "Me and Jap tell people our names if we want them to remember us."

Calvary raises a brow, not quite sure what that means. "And what does  _that_ have to do with it?"

"Well, I wanted you to remember what I said, not who I am."

And again he finds himself dumbfounded by her, sitting in silence as he thinks that he's just letting the hangover get to him, the pain deluding him into actually being impressed by a little otter girl.

In the succeeding days, he comes to the bench less and less hammered, and in those days he starts noticing the way everyone looks at him. The passersby are all cautious around him, what with him having been a suspect in the abductions over a year ago. But she doesn't mean to mind it in the slightest, eyes locking only in his direction.

Most of her topics, when he isn't making input, is centered on whatever her family had been telling her about drinking. He actually thinks it's be appalling that her parents would talk about something like that at length with someone so young but over time he finds out that they don't really hide things from her.

The tooth fairy doesn't exist. Santa is daddy in a costume. And though she doesn't know the intricacies of it just yet, she does know where babies come from, albeit vaguely. But she lets herself fall into the delusions nonetheless, marveling at the magic of the world like the rest of the kids.  _It's like I never have to stop playing pretend until I'm too old to play anymore._

And so he continues to be mystified by her, so at awe at her unique brand of wisdom taken from some very unconventional parents that he can't help but start to enjoy himself. And on the weekends when she's off on a play date with her friend Jap, he thinks he might actually miss her.

But on the same weekend, he gets into another bar fight. And since he'd come in genuinely drunk, he comes home with a black eye. And when he gets to bed, he forgets that Tali had said she'd come over.

She comes out of his bathroom, much to his surprise, and gets worked-up over his injury. She starts treating it. And it bothers him because lately all they've been like together is raunchy and desperate, and this genuine affection starts to feel out of place.

She gets gauze over his eye before leaving the room to put away the medical kit, and when she comes back she finds that he's staring at her, sort of lost in his own little world, contemplating her.

Tali, from across the room, is a little apprehensive to approach. "Cal?" Whatever plagues her mind is quickly dispelled when he realizes that he's staring and looks away. She approaches then, sitting beside him on his bed. "What's wrong, Cal?"

"Mink…" He is riddled with disbelief, or is it confusion, she can't tell, but the look in his eye means he's endlessly searching for an answer. "What even are we anymore?"  _An answer to a question she doesn't want to look for._

She tries to make sense of her own emotions with little success, the vast cornucopia of other little questions she wants to ask buzzing about in her head, reaching for clarity she can't possibly find with the time she has. "I… don't know, Cal. In some sort of relationship, I guess." Her hand reaches for his tentatively. "Isn't… isn't that enough?"

He clutches her hand. He wants it to be, almost needs it to be, but that doesn't make it so. "Do you even love me that way, Mink?"

"Do _you?_ " Her own expression is expectant, but inside she isn't sure if she wants him to say yes, no, or to say nothing at all.

He looks away, boring into the floor as he struggles with himself. "I…" Then his eyes fall to her again, still searching for something that they both know they won't find here. "I  _want_ to," he says with more conviction than he actually has.

"What we want and what we actually have are two different things, Cal."

He takes both her hands, his voice now a whisper as he takes in the coarse texture of her palms. "Then what do we want, Mink?" he asks, eyes locked onto their conjoined hands before their gazes meet. "Tell me."

She bites her lip as she searches herself for an honest answer. "We want a stable, honest relationship."

"And is this not honest?"

"But it isn't  _stable._  This… this is  _sex,_  Cal! This is us trying to rut our problems away in the frail hope that one day we find what we're looking for." Her frustration simmers away, bleeding out of the ends of her frayed fur, unsteady in her breathing, but she can't bring herself to let go of his hands.

Her head falls to his chest, their hands on his lap.

His eyes trace the ceiling as he feels her thumb rub circles over his knuckles. "Mink?"

"Hm?"

"Do ya' remember what we were like before this? You and…me?"

Her head nudges him back so he can fall flat on the bed, herself coming down with him, head resting still on his chest. "Just… this. Just like this."

No more words pass between them, the moment stilling the silence. Calvary reaches for the lamp which he shuts off, filling the room with darkness.

All sensation that remains between them is the sound of the other's breathing, comforting each other with warmth alone and the melody of a beating heart. And for the first time in a long time, they remember why they were so close in the first place, drowning out the world with their presence, reminding the other that they are never alone.

And come that next morning, he finds a genuine smile across her slumbering lips, but then it raises more questions than answers, as the reconnection between them feels like it's either love or a reinforced delusion of it.

And the more he thinks about it, the more it terrifies him. And the more it terrifies him, the more it urges him to drink again. So he decides to go for a walk. And it pulls him out of the district, then pulls him out of the neighborhood.

And soon he finds himself sitting on that same bench in the park just after the crack of dawn.

He stares at the floor for a while, wondering about what he's meant to do now. But his thoughts are interrupted by the tap of little otter feet, and he looks up to find Kayla staring up at him.

It is the first time she sees him sober and nowhere near a hangover, but he's somehow marginally worse, especially with the gauze still over his black eye.

He says nothing however, and she chooses to leave the silence as is.

She'd seen him out on the neighborhood and knew he'd end up here, but she'd wondered if he was drunk out of his mind with a drink that made him look like a nervous wreck.

But he doesn't even have his flask and he carries a clarity she recognizes has been building up since he's been drinking less and less whether he knows it or not.

Calvary stews in his thoughts, mind elsewhere from the drink and locked entirely on Tali who's still sleeping at home. Worrying about what she'll think when she finds herself alone. Thinking about what it'll do to their friendship or… whatever the hell it is they have and… and…!

"A _best_  friend," Kayla says out of nowhere, pulling him out of his mad train of thought.

"Wh-what?"

She shrugs. "I talked to Jap and we decided that, if you're feeling bad and can't talk to your friends, or your feelings doctor, then you talk to your _best_  friend. Well… your best friend talks to you. Cause you don't ask them to. They know when you're hurt and help you anyway. That's what best friends are like."

His expression is incredulous, haunted, broken, angry, and he isn't sure what face he's making but it's clearly terrifying her.

But he'd tried that already! He'd talked to his best friend and tried to work everything out but it might have only made things worse. And this… this eight-year-old thinks she can empathize with him? Thinks she can clear the clout that has been building up inside him, poisoned with that alcoholic bile bubbling in his mouth that shades his putrid little world that she is still too young to understand! It's crushing his self-worth, asking him why he's even here anymore if there's nothing left for him anyway!

And why?! Because his parents didn't love him enough to stick around, leaving him in an empty house with empty promises and an inheritance that is supposed to prove that they love him but can't tell him why they haven't so much as given him a call! Because the woman he loved and his best friend had to leave him and find their own lives without him, and every other friend he had left had to be ripped away from him by a monster!

Because it had all destroyed him enough to think that he can play at mischief and hurt the people he cared about for his own amusement. Forced him into a desperate relationship with one of the most important people in his life just so he can feel like he matters to somebody again.

…It is then that he realizes that Kayla is hugging him with all her might, squeezing him with her little arms at his stomach for as far she can reach. It is then that he realizes that his chest and her head are slick with his tears, burning with all his pain and the crushing desperate need to forget loneliness. And it is then that he realizes that he had said everything out loud.

And despite every terrible thing he'd said, Kayla embraces him despite the clear fear she must have felt. Because she is here for him, braving her own fears to quell his own, to save a man her parents once admired. A man the whole town once loved.

Kayla knows she cannot possibly care for him the way the town does, but he was important to so many people, a shining beacon of hope and youth that everyone believed would change the world one day. But then tragedy struck and he was broken…

And the thought to restore him might have been ignorant of his own feelings as well, cause she wanted to fix him for  _them,_  and not for  _him_... But then she found someone who would listen to her, someone who'd take her seriously, someone who she could genuinely care for as a friend. Then, selfishly, she wanted to fix him for herself.

But it was only until he'd begun screaming, yelling, pouring out all his pain and demanding she leave him alone, pushing her away in his all-consuming anguish, does she finally decide to fix him… _for him_.

And as she squeezes tighter and tighter at his chest, her own tears begin mixing with his. Then his hands fall around her, cradling her in his arms as her grip loosens, balling in front of him, stopping only when he laughs. She pulls her head from his chest to find out why he's laughing, meeting his grinning face and all his sharp white teeth, and the tall, titanic man asks the little girl if she would like to be his friend.

They pinky swear.

Calvary brings her home after, greeting Jackson Rivers for the first time in a long time, and the sight of the two of them brings a smile to the elder otter's face.

He then makes his way back home to find Tali in bed, wide awake, drenched in uncertainty. And he comforts her, bleeds her anguish dry until he can shower her in featherlight pecks over her cheeks and lips, making her giggle again. Though unsure of how honest his feelings even are, he asks her to love him for real. She doesn't say yes, though the wordless, affectionate kiss she gives him clearly suffices.

The next day they meet little Kayla who excitedly asks if Tali is his girlfriend. He doesn't know what to tell her, but in the instance of his hesitation does Tali lean over and peck his cheek, telling her that "Yes, I am, but that's our little secret, yeah?"

Kayla squees and congratulates Calvary who is much too flustered to properly handle all the affection he's getting.

The otter commemorates the moment by pulling out a wine bottle from her bag, which confuses and even mildly terrifies the two. That is until Tali pulls out the cork and sniffs it, telling him that it's water.

Kayla tells them that it will be a reminder of the day he pulled himself out of the dark.

His heart swells.

The weeks go by in a blur as Calvary swears off alcohol and makes a show of it by walking into the Rogue's Gallery in his father's brown suit and only orders breakfast for him and the girls, much to the shock and bewilderment of all present.

The once town drunk decides then that he'll get back to work instead of running off his inheritance, and becomes a coach at Kayla's school. He drills them hard, but everyone's happy he's back on his feet.

The three of them all have lunch together a lot, oftentimes on their collective ways to work or school, and always in secret so they can hide the couple's relationship. And during one of these meetings, Tali mentions that Calvary is overqualified for his job. After explaining what "overqualified" means to Kayla, the little girl proudly agrees and declares that Calvary can be anything he puts his mind to…

" _...even mayor._ "

Though shame still clouds him despite his good fortune, damning himself for giving everyone a hard time, especially during Carrion's spree. In his search for penance, he stumbles onto an idea, and calls the girls together for his announcement.

"I'm runnin' fer mayor," he tells them with a nervous tick in his voice that is so uncharacteristic that they laugh, thinking he's joking, but he doesn't laugh with them, which stills their lips.

Kayla's affectionate tackle is to be expected, but Tali hesitates, not sure how to feel about how fast he's moving on with his life. She hugs him, but it's half-hearted and he can tell.

He asks her what's wrong. She tells him she doesn't really know. Kayla thinks she does, but feels that she isn't smart enough to say it aloud.

Calvary doesn't pry, but he and Kayla keep a watchful eye on her.

Towards the end of Mayor Anita's running, Calvary announces his candidacy. There is some controversy, given his history, but much of the town that knew him in his youth are willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. It is enough, it seems, as Kayla rallies the young behind their coach and Tali sways the public opinion with the rumor mill swelling through their network of deputies.

It is then that Calvary brings in another friend, Liandra "An" Hunt, a childhood friend of his from Zootopia. Her first impression with the girls is unsettling at best since Kayla doesn't like the way she flirts with Calvary… and Tali wonders why she isn't bothered by it at all.

Still, it isn't long until An finds a place with the two. Kayla finds that An is as much a kid as she is an adult, which is more than enough common ground for the two to be fast friends, talking animatedly. Tali even comes to call her a reliable colleague and friend, even earning the nickname "Hotshot", which she ensures will forever label her until she dies or comes up with a better one.

There comes a point where Kayla mentions how close Tali and Calvary have been getting. Tali denies it in embarrassment, but only because An is in the room. But the wolf makes a snide comment about her and Calvary might have had at least "banged" in the past and even asks how good he was. And even after denying that, An asks what their relationship even is anyway.

"They're just friends," Kayla says in her defence.

But those words unsettle her.

Tali lies awake in Calvary's arms one rainy night, contemplating their relationship and what it even means.

She considers that the familiarity of his warmth is perhaps just that and nothing more. It is comforting, safe, but it has always been like that, well before the sex and this attempt at a relationship, where they'd huddle close as children, fighting their fear of thunder and lightning until they associated that crackle with the tight squeeze around their arms.

Even now, as the sky roars and snaps in the storm, the sound only brings her catharsis, enough to put her to sleep.

When she awakes, she comes with some conviction as a distinct swelling in her heart that tells her that something's changed. Though nothing is apparent for a while, even as they cook breakfast together or even when they kiss goodbye before she slips out back and heads to work.

It isn't until An flirts with Calvary again does Tali realize she may have begun genuinely falling for him. Because she doesn't like the way this wolf is flirting with her man. She says nothing however, it isn't like she knows he's taken already.

But the feeling is miniscule, barely there when they're apart, and that only confuses her more. She doesn't know what she feels, if she feels anything at all. Cause the way she feels might be no different from what they were when they were only friends.

This puts a strain on them that isn't helped with the height of his campaign, as they both find themselves too busy to even eat together. And it seems that all they ever have time for is time in bed together, and it's only for sleep.

Calvary quickly occupies himself with the running, and it isn't long until he stops seeing Tali at home altogether. But he presses on with An and Kayla at his side, with Tali working in the background as usual.

Eventually he doesn't notice that they haven't seen each other in a week. And neither does she. The gap spreads then until it's already been a month.

Until he sees her on the day before election, sitting in his living room, chewing on one of his apples.

They talk then, catching up as friends tend to do, and they talk as if the gap never existed. So easily do they fall back into each other's lives that it's almost shocking, especially when they remember that they're supposed to be dating.

And that's when the easy conversation takes a turn.

"So what are we anymore, Cal?" she asks inquisitively, but bearing no hint of sadness in her tone.

He's also genuinely curious about it, wishing he could answer her in a satisfying way but can't. "I don't know, Mink. I mean, I don't feel like I like you any less."

"Yeah," she laughs, getting up and plopping onto the sofa beside him, nuzzling her head into his shoulder "me neither."

"But hey," he chirps, smiling at her, "there is somethin' I  _do_ know."

"Hm?" she raises a challenging brow, entirely expecting a corny one-liner. "And what's that?"

He sighs as he leans back, not making eye contact. "I don't love El no more. Not a hint o' my feelin's for her exist." He opens his eyes as he laughs, looking at her lovingly as he takes her hands. "And I'm thinkin' that's a step in the right direction."

And she's shocked to hear it, so much so that her response vanishes in the wind. And all she can do to respond to him is take his lips into her own, trying to forget that, unlike him, she's still in love with Ross.

It's a little awkward after the kiss, but they go to bed as usual and sleep their thoughts away. But with all of Calvary's progress, she feels like she's been left behind.

On election, he wins and becomes mayor, beginning his time in office, making him even busier than before. And as deputies leave town, severely cutting down the staff at the station, Tali finds herself picking up the slack.

It's then that even so much as coming home to sleep together is already taking too much of their time. And Tali has already begun familiarizing with her own bed again. But they try, expending their lunch break to be together, but they've also started neglecting Kayla, and it breaks their heart when they realize they hadn't so much as spoken to her in this transitory time.

So when Calvary invites them into the office, he welcomes Kayla with a tiny party with just the three of them, with a cake especially made for her. She is ecstatic, breathing life into the room with her youthful splendor.

And if one were to spy them, one might even think they'd made themselves into a family.

Kayla gives Calvary a plastic flower she'd made to commemorate his time in office, the second of her gifts meant for him to use as landmarks for his progress, which is an ill reminder for Tali about how far back she is in comparison.

Kayla seems to sense this, deciding to leave the room, but not before she tugs at Calvary's pant leg and whispers something in his ear, then doing the same to Tali.

Finally alone, the pair stares owlishly at each other.

Then they laugh.

" _You should be friends again."_

The tension vanishes as Tali lies easily at his side again, prodding his arm. "You think she even knows what that means to us?"

"I don't know," he says, "but she's a blessin' nonetheless." A warmth rolls down his chest, easing him. "Maybe… maybe we've been overthinkin' all o' this."

"I think so too," she says with a smile. "We try so hard to make this work but… maybe we're just not ready yet."

Tali disagrees with herself though. She doesn't want to tell him that she knows that he's ready to move on and find love, but she doesn't want him to think she's lagging behind, doesn't want him to worry for her when he's already got a whole town to think about.

She looks up at him and sees a man she'll always come to admire, one she'll share her life with, be it as a friend or something more. But they'll be there for each other, even if only in spirit. And she can tell herself with all the honesty left in her body that that is somehow enough… at least for now.

"I need to find myself, Cal. Like you did." It is more a vow than a statement, laced with her personal affections and newfound resolve, crowning her in his admiration.

They break up, much to the dismay of Kayla, but is ultimately pleased to see that they've stopped being strange.

Tali watches from a distance as Calvary leaves his mark on the world, saving a town from itself. And he even comes up with a plan to ease her workload by taking the high school graduates without other prospects and appoints them as rookie deputies at the station, even if only to fill the staff quota they've been lacking in for years.

The day he stops calling her "Mink" is the day she allows herself to seal her heart away with what little feelings she may or may not have had for him. And as the months roll by, she remembers what it's like to see him as a friend, and forgets why she ever fell in love with him in the first place.

But Calvary is a different story, falling in love with a girl so on the fence about their relationship that he never knows if he should push forward… or do what he usually does and  _stays still._  And so deeply entranced he is by her that he doesn't even notice the not-so-quiet affections of his childhood friend, Liandra Hunt, or the quiet suffering of his daughter-figure, Kayla who'd been feeling painfully alone when she'd been with them.

But in the end he surrenders to Tali's obfuscation, neglecting her nickname even if it rests at the tip of his quivering lips. Accepting her love even if it'll only ever be as friends, and at a distance at that.

And it evidently has provides him with more, allowing him to fix his problems.

He destroyed himself by letting the fallout of his relationships dictate his state of being, every breakup and wistful longing turning him into a sardonic drunk or a self-pitying wreck. But now he's taken a breath and watches the woman he loves turn into a mentor and role model to the newcomers at her station, pride and longing swelling in his heart. But he can't approach her, cannot dare to touch or even speak, in fear of threatening her desire for self-discovery.

And in this gap between them does he reconnect with Kayla and An, slowly repairing the bridge he'd almost burned in his desperate pursuit for love. And Kayla even manages to get him to call his mother, just in time to hear of her terrible health, managing to get her the proper operation that would very well save her life.

Suddenly the pieces come together. He sees the town and its every cog in the machine, working to save itself from falling apart even when there's pieces missing. And for them… all of them, he would hold them together until someone better, smarter, wiser than he could step in and save it.

So until that day, he sits in his chair as mayor of Bronc Town - once a broken man like his town, but  _unlike_  his town, he was saved. And to pass on that one such blessing, he sits there patiently, plotting its coming days to lift spirits, fill gaps, and to honor the ghosts that still walk its streets and haunt its loved ones.

"We'll make things better, Cal. For you  _and_ her," Kayla tells him as she kicks her little feet over his desk's edge one day. She's already quite a few years older now, and with that comes with the wisdom that lets her see where his mind goes when he stares out the window like he does.

He adjusts the plastic flower at his breast pocket as he sits beside her, a mirth working its way through his lips. "Now don't think I ain't doin' it for you either."

"Yeah, but that's a given." She tries to play it cool but it fails and it's easy to see she was hardly trying anyway.

He pokes her head. "Yer' real cheeky, you know that?"

She giggles. "Only when I'm right."

An then comes bursting through the door with Japeth mounted on her head. They sway happily, laughing as the two crash into the office's sofa.

"Now what's gotten into you two?" he asks, his voice carrying more concern than he might have wanted.

Kayla makes an amused expression, resting her chin to her knuckles. "I think An's drunk and she got Jap to try."

"What!?" Calvary intones, "Damn it, An, the boy's only thirteen!"

"Oh, let them have their fun, Cal," Kayla says nonchalantly. "I know Jap and he won't let it get to him. And An is as messed up as she's gonna get. No way she's getting worse."

An's head pokes up, her face barely managing to look offended passed her slurred features. "Hey! If that wasn't totally true and you weren't incredibly adorable, I'd take offense to that!"

Calvary shakes his head, deciding to turn to Kayla instead. "Why on earth are you not more upset about this?"

"Hm?" Her genuine confusion might have bothered him enough to look aghast but then she grins. "Well, cause she's allowed to drink and you aren't."

He deadpans. "That is an  _upsettin'_ double standard."

She hopes he understands that she's only messing with him, not that the statement is any less true. Calvary has sworn off alcohol, and it's a testament to his fortitude when his friends drinking does nothing to entice him. Kayla might have considered that he's doing it for love, but in truth, Calvary was never really addicted alcohol. It was the distraction he craved, no matter what form that took. Where he could look away from the mess that is his life, only shielding himself from the truth… but he's no longer that man, no longer ashamed of his past or what he's done with his present.

And with that comes his exasperated sigh, a telltale sign of ever persistent temperament,

"C'mon, big guy, you know I don't mean it that way." She holds up her hands to him. "Now help me up so we can get these two sober before dinner."

He hoists her onto his shoulder, her personal perch where she might act as his anchor. "I think it's unfair that yer' so hard to stay mad at."

The door opens slightly, drawing all eyes in its direction. Through it, the familiar neutral gaze of Egan Greycastle comes through, the vulpine grinning sheepishly for a moment as he steps in. "Mayor Pride? Someone's here to see you"

"Oh, Egan…" Calvary puts Kayla down on the sofa with her friends as he ambles to the door. "I'm kinda in the middle o' somethin'. Can't it wait?" He attempts to whisper, to minimal avail however.

"I'm afraid not, sir." Egan's expression is nothing short of apologetic, even sparing the same glance for his companions behind him.

A well-dressed chimp steps into the open doorway, coughing into his hand. "Mayor Pride, eh… seeing as your associates seem  _indisposed_ to leave, we can have this meeting in the hall if you'd prefer."

Calvary is pleasantly surprised by the offer. "Well, thank you. How incredibly considerate of ya', mister…?" He extends a hand to shake.

"Wamancht," the chimp says, "Spruce Wamancht."

He glances back at Kayla who is still busying herself with helping Japeth up, only to fail as he fails back onto An's belly then slipping off her side, trapping him between her and the backrest. He'd hate to have to kick them out just to have a meeting, especially with their condition. "Egan," he says, "would you mind takin' over here? I'd rather not leave Kayla alone with these two."

"Of course, sir," the arctic fox nods, entering the room. Quickly, he plucks Japeth from the sofa, settling him gently next to Kayla. "Miss Hunt, what on earth were you thinking? This entire scenario is ill-advised."

"Pfft!" An scoffs. "Come off it, Eg-head, you like me the way I am."

"As I am both married and still  _incredibly_ sane, I would be disinclined to that statement."

Out in the hall, Calvary and the chimp lean over the railing that peers over the first floor.

"Before we begin," Spruce says, "I'd like to clarify that, officially, I do not represent Zootopia in any way shape or form. These things need to be kept off the books."

"Well that's rather ominous. Why d'ja need t' bring that up?"

"Because as Bronc Town is now its own county, Zootopia has no jurisdiction and cannot station me here for fear of straining relations. So I'm here for your permission to be situated here."

"And what are you doin' here?"

"My employer has need of someone to monitor a potential suspect for a cold case. I'm sure you know which one."

Calvary's lip tilts. It wouldn't make sense that it would be any other case. "Ah, the Abductionsthen."

"Precisely. And as I am meant to act via your permission, you may request of me any details of my investigation. My primary suspect, even."

"I'd rather not know. If the ZPD thinks they got a man, I'll 'em to it. Personally, I'd rather just keep makin' my townsfolk happy until ya'll can bring that killer t' justice." Calvary had hoped that people could leave that case in the past, but justice never sleeps, and perhaps this might yield something, despite the old wounds it opens.

But it's a task that shouldn't be done alone. He glances down to the first floor then down the hall before turning back to the chimp, having found no one outside of his own staff. "Might I ask, why are you operatin' alone?"

"Because back at the station, I don't have a partner. I'm even chosen especially for my lack of associates, though my employer say it aloud. No one would miss me… sir."

That breaks his heart. "Surely that ain't true…"

"I am a man has nothing left to lose. I have given my job for this mission, for however long it takes. Though I assure you, this town will become home to me and I will safeguard it as I have been tasked to do. But… I am not to be identified by you. My employer believes it best that you remain as oblivious to me and my task as possible. So as far as you're  _officially_  concerned, I'm a man of the cloth or some such guesswork… Honestly, you need not associate with me." The man's stoic expression only serves to further dishearten Calvary. But he isn't about to let in another Zootopian only to leave them as a sad sack.

Calvary shakes his head, a determined smile curling his lips and drawing hard on his eyes. "Nonsense. Whether yer' here on business or pleasure, this town opens its doors to you." He places a hand on his shoulder. "'Sides, I'd much rather introduce ya' t' these folks as a friend."

Spruce cannot help but smile. "You're a good man, Calvary Pride."

"I do my best. Now, c'mon, they may not be in the best condition right now but I'd like to introduce ya' to my dearest friends."

**~͢͝~̸̵̧̛͘~͏͟͢͜ớ0̧̧̡͠͠O̢҉͡0̸̛҉̧҉o͏̡̡͜~̴̢̧~̴͡~̴̷̢**

_I always admired him, y'know? Not that I was into him or anything, but he was like a distant older brother or something like that. We didn't talk much but he always kept an eye on me when I was being reckless during our gator hunts, and he'd saved my life enough times for me to lose count. And… I guess I kind of got used to him being that way too, cause at some point I just felt safe with him around. My silent protector, Kayla called him, so I thought I might one day be like that with her. But in the end, I lost them both._

_~Liandra "An" Hunt, a confession jotted down in Gizelle's diary when they'd spoken about it during their investigation._

**~͏́͜~̸̨̕~̷̧͘҉̶ǫ̷̀0͘҉͘҉O҉͏͟͠0̶͢ǫ̴̛̀̕~́͟͞~̴̴́͟͝~͏̴̛͜͟**

The cooled scent of evening autumn pervades Marshal's senses as he takes in the sights of the solemn forest, passing pillars of moonlight crest through the canopy to light his path. But iridescence is offset by the clouds overhead, masked by the night sky, whipping wind through the treeline and over his frame.

The forest whispers things to him, prompting buried thoughts as doubts lingering in his mind's eye begin to weigh at his footsteps.

A shaft of some sort is strapped to his back, hiding the object in complete obscurity from any eyes that might see it. He reaches for it, perhaps paranoid that it might have fallen somehow.

His hands then grope through a thicket of branches and trees, fingers clutching the old bark, resisting his childish urge to tear off loose chunks.

The air is cold then colder still as the wind picks up whilst the first droplets of the coming storm beat against his frame. It reminds him of that fateful day all those years ago, where he'd sprinted through the forest with a dagger clutched in hand, bloodied by a friend's suicide. He remembers that errant, overwhelming fear, as his body went numb through the pervading ache in his little muscles.

But today, in the present, he feels no such urgency, coaxing out some desire to stall. But then the end of his path is reached as he finds himself by a lake where he'd taken a stolen truck and reinforced raft. The engine strapped to the raft weighs the whole thing down a bit in the rear, but the stones balancing the other end are perhaps a danger themselves, even if they are in a net bag. He'd lose that weight soon enough anyway.

He almost gets in and carries on with his task, but instead he takes a moment to eye over the truck.

It belongs to one of his friends, a Tyler Alces, who's out of town for the week. It's his second vehicle and nowhere near as fancy as his dad's muscle car, the Highway Aries, so he didn't take it, and since no one else lives at the residence, Marshal could take it in and out without anyone noticing. And if they did, he'd just tell them Tyler lent it to him. It's the perfect getaway ride, inconspicuous and with enough room to hide everything he needs.

But Marshal curses the way his mind is working right now.

He knows his father once operated under the same calculating scrutiny of the world around him and its available resources, but it had once been about shorter routes so they save gas money, borrowing a friend's car so they can do separate deliveries, alternative sugars to fill their pastries, but now… he's considering the quietest route out of the forest, taking advantage of the rainy night to mask any noise he might make, creating potential alibis for any question that might be thrown his way in the unlikely event that he's caught.

And he's doing it all to satiate some baleful itch, enticing some vile sense of accomplishment at satisfying his innermost demons that haunt him at night. And the sensation looms over his skin down to the tips of his fingers, calling out to the item at his back.

Worse still as his many years in the swamp has done nothing but act some meager way to quell those demons, putting the life of a mindless predator in his hands as he levels a weapon each time to kill, accompanied by the incredible relief from finally taking the shot. But no matter how many gators he fells, he feels that need gnawing at him still, demanding that he hunt something worthy of his skills.

And even now it asks the same, hands furling and unfurling as the sensation of taut flesh enclosing over a windpipe tingles his fingertips and thrums in his palms.

He is shaky and uncertain, the innocent man inside struggling to break free, clawing at the madman his father once was, the same madman he fears he might become. But the need is too great, one that ought to be quenched, greater than any petty fear.

_As necessary as the air he breathes._

A droplet crosses over his eye, shutting it as the world returns to him. But now the shaking is gone, mind on the task at hand rather than its implications. He checks once more for the rod-like object wrapped at his back, shifting his shoulders to renew the feel of it pressing against him.

He checks the doors of the truck before tossing a dark tarp over it. He then hops into the boat, feeling the waves crash about with fervor beneath him, steadying himself so he can ride it onward.

He readies the engine, prepared to take to his task quickly. He's done enough stalling.

The stolen raft speeds against the waves, Marshal shifting his weight as he presses the rocks harnessed at the front, getting used to its presence. He has to move against the current since it will only get worse when the storm picks up, at least the return trip will be relatively easier.

He bounds over the water every once in a while, but otherwise managing to stay stable as he swerves along with the waves.

When he makes it to a narrow choke path leading to a cottage's still light in the stark darkness, he allows himself to crash onto the adjacent land. He gets out and tugs the raft into some nearby bushes, quickly inspecting it in areas he fears it might've gotten damaged. It is relatively unharmed, but a scrap of the raft wafts against some dashed stones. Quickly he takes it, before feeling over the raft's side.

There's a small gap there. Too small to notice, really, but the raft is multi-layered and will still function. But he is fearful anyway.

His eyes scan over the cottage from his position, then over dirt the path that leads to it.  _Old Monty will be here soon. I'll wait for 'im then grab some duct tape for the raft._

Swiftly then he rounds the cottage with practiced ease, knowing its grounds well and making sure not to leave any discernible mark that will last through the downpour.

There is an incline off the side of the cottage where he and the rest of Fyfly kids used to slide down. The park doesn't even have a playground so they settled for this, but they have great memories out of it, and they come flooding back.

Juvenile thoughts cloud his mind, the childish laughter ringing in his ear as the rain picks up. He remembers having scraped his knee when he fell off it once upon a time. The gash he'd gotten from a rock beneath the leaves caused quite the stir. Monty bandaged his little wound, and the alcohol he poured on it stung… but he never screamed or whined, as if numb to the pain.

A crackle of thunder bursts through the sky, making him alert. His eyes narrow down the dirt path, certain that Monty would come soon enough.

He settles in the middle of the incline, making sure he's high enough to mask his height with his position.

He takes the wrapped item off his back, running a hand over it as a twinge of doubt creeps over him, only to vanish the next moment as he steels himself.

Taking one end then pulling, the cloth wrap falls away easily, knots undoing themselves with ease, revealing a pump-action shotgun. But the appearance is deceiving. He checks the loader and nods when he sees the 308 round in place. He then cocks it, the sound almost melodic to his ears as the weapon is loaded.

His finger presses into the barrel, feeling the smaller 308 barrel around that of a 12 gauge, making sure its holding firmly in place.

He built the weapon, stole the ammo from Smith's personal collection, fashioned the metal and internals out of an old war rifle Henry gave his father, and gutted an old shotgun. It's an item he might have been proud of were it not made for this one purpose.

Marshal aims down the path, the rain obscuring his vision. Minutes pass, almost an hour perhaps, but he waits patiently. And the droplets fall with echoes in his ear, resounding, resonating, singing the song of autumn rains.

And there is a moment of tranquility in it, basking in the soft caress of nature's icy breath. But like the gentle winds that sway beneath the crackling, oncoming thunder,  _it is only the calm before the storm._

Old Monty walks down the path, wearing a jacket, eyes downward from the rain.

Marshal aims down the sight, unaided by a scope and disturbed by the mist.

The sky screams with a flash of lightning followed by the thunder, prompting Monty to jog.

Marshal readies the trigger. With luck, a missed shot will be masked by thunder or mistaken as it. With more… masking it won't even be necessary.

Monty climbs the steps to his porch, letting down his hood finally, a relieved smile creasing his lips. In that moment, Marshal hesitates, spying the old man like the grandfather he never got the chance to meet. But another part of him, a stronger, more primal part, pulls the trigger anyway.

The shot misses and plunges through a beam. The bullet whizzes by Monty's ear, startling him as he stumbles towards his door.

He is in a panic now, fumbling for his keys in an attempt to reach safety.

The door is open in the next instant, the old goat scrambling in and ducking low to avoid getting shot.

Marshal can see the steely determination in Monty's eyes, a look that is unfamiliar, the kind only a soldier would make. Then he vanishes behind the wall.

He pumps his gun again, loading in the next round as he steadies his sight over the window closest to the door. But then he quickly sees something move in his periphery.

_He's slipped passed the first window!_

Marshal shifts quickly, aims ahead of his target then… fires at his shoulder.

Monty slams into the wall on impact, slumping to the floor and out of sight, but Marshal knows it won't be enough to take him down. So he gets off the incline and jogs towards the front door.

Of course it's locked, so he pulls out his spare key and opens the door.

Monty doesn't even look back, has none of the strength to.

His assailant moves towards him with purpose, fists clenching and unclenching around his weapon.

Marshal's mind is a haze, a flurry of indistinct images and a sardonic presence leering over him as his senses go numb. He stands over his victim, cracking his own neck and breathing a relieved, almost transient breath, as the last vestiges of his uncertainty fade away at the smell of blood and the sensation of a kill so close at hand.

He raises his weapon, inhaling then exhaling, then knocks him out with the butt of his weapon.

And in that eerie silence, sheltered from the rain, his head tilts as he eyes the body, not quite remembering who it even is.

Then, suddenly, he's outside again, strapping the body onto the raft. He vaguely remembers cleaning the blood, stealing a sweater and tearing off a piece to leave in the forest, and shooting the house full of holes just to throw people off, but he also barely remembers where he is. He just knows he has to go down the river again.

He eyes the net bag with the unconscious body in it. He won't wake up soon…  _why didn't he kill him yet?_

He looks over to the river where he'd dumped the rocks that were previously in the bag. No one would think suspect of some new rocks he'd used as the raft's counterweight.

He takes a moment for himself, shaking his head as thoughts that almost seem like they aren't his cloud him. But the moment passes and he speeds off along with the current, vanishing in the mist.

But he turns back to see the cottage devoid of lights, vanishing in the darkness but not before he sees a ghost of himself wander over the porch.

He crashes against the bank of the river, jolting him back into reality as he faces forward once more, disappearing into the night.

**~o~~~~o~**

An leafs through the pages of the past case's report, eying insight after insight, some of them are even theirs, and nothing really comes to light to her. So she groans, falling back in frustration against the sofa. "I think we need to take a more direct approach."

Gizelle sighs from her perch on her swivel chair across from her, setting down papers too. "An, we are _not_  asking Terry. There's nothing either of us can do that can convince him otherwise."

"Oh, I'm not talking about Terry," she says, grinning cheekily.

"Then  _who_?"

An waves her phone at her before dialing a number. As it rings, she puts it on video then places it on the table.

A familiar yak comes into view in a thin long-sleeved tee and plastic glasses that serve no function other than to make himself look smarter. "Evenin', Miss Hunt, anything you need?" Barnaby asks.

"I'm actually here to make an order," An replies.

"Over the phone? I'll admit, this is a little unorthodox." he asks, the concerned skepticism so vivid on his face that he's momentarily terrified afterwards about An maybe seeing it. She does, of course, but isn't bothered by it.

"Yeah, An," Gizelle agrees with eyes wary, sitting herself beside An so she's in view of the camera, "you can just as easily order it the regular way, don't you think?"

"Oh, I'm sure he'll make an exception," An replies snidely. "Won't you, Barns?"

"Uh… certainly, M-miss Hunt! Eheh." He's so vividly panicked that Gizelle can't help but feel sorry for the guy. "Ahem. Anything for a customer." But he bounces back, surprising them both when he manages a business smile.

Gizelle shoots another glare at An whose grin only widens, but she's ostensibly nervous, heart thrumming in her chest because deep down she knows that what she's going to ask is about to land her into a lot of trouble with a particular lion.

An leans in, trying to keep her expression nonchalant. "So I need one of those mountable GoPros of yours. The one with the streaming feature. Any in stock?"

"Mighty fine choice, ma'am. One o' our best sellers. How d'ja wanna pay fer' it?"

"Oh, I wanna see it first before I make a purchase."

Both Gizelle and Barns spare her suspicious looks but she pays them no mind. Barns himself decides not to argue, calling Clementine in the background for the product.

Gizelle leans in to whisper angrily in her ear. "What are you doing!?"

"Hey," she whispers back, the smile never faltering, "trust me."

She wants to argue, to pull An away from whatever scheme she's cooking up, but her eyes spark something genuine, and she's unable to press any further in the face of it. Because An is deadly serious about this case – despite her frustrations with it – and in light of that, Gizelle concedes without another word, drawing her lips in a line as she bites back any other thoughts on the matter. At least until An finishes.

"So this is it," Clementine says as her goat horns poke into the screen before basically shoving Barns out of the way who laughs heartily when she nudges again. They seem to be getting along real well, more so than usual. "I'm guessin' ya' already have the App fer' it, then?" Clem's knowing brow almost mimics An on some lower level. She knows something is up, and is perhaps prepared for it.

Though, of course she isn't. And An is actually very, very sorry about it.

"Already got it. I'll need the code to test it though."

Clem reads off the code for the GoPro for her, and An nearly chokes when she's looking through the cam's feed. " _It works!"_  she thinks, the seeds of some inevitable regret already sinking into her. _"Now for the hard part…"_

"I'll still need to test this thing. Mind putting it on?" Clem does so, and both Gizelle and An can see Barns and Clem's apartment quite clearly through the App.

Clem whispers to Barns, asking what's going on, and the GoPros mic catches it, startling the four of them. "Wow," Gizelle remarks, "even the audio is clear. Not even the call is echoing that."

"Y-yeah," Barns replies nervously, "it's a high quality product after all."

"Aw, damn," An says, eying the two beds at the end of the room. "So you two  _aren't_ sleeping together?" Gizelle shoulder checks her, sporting a blush almost as embarrassed as the two through the phone who only cough in response.

"This enough testin', Miss Hunt?" Clem asks, trying very hard to not melt from humiliation.

"I'd like to test it on the go," she replies, "could you two head to Stable Village?" Gizelle's shocked expression causes An's almost ironclad nonchalance to falter, then ultimately shatter.

Gizelle shakes her head viciously, gritting her teeth as she makes every motion out of view of the camera to ask her to stop without actually speaking.

An's sordid expression bleeds through, and her eyes are practically begging in response. "Trust me," she mouths, and the gazelle can't help but feel the pain burning through the dour sigh her friend makes.

Barns and Clem have already made it out of their apartment and across the street to Stable Village in this time, and there at the entrance, the station wagons sitting around the Hector's residence bode an ill omen for the pair. "Miss Hunt," Barns begins, almost sternly but giving way to his fear and panic, "why are we here?"

" _That's_  why, Barns," she replies, eying the home with a grave expression. "We need your help with something very important, and that involves getting in the basement."

"Liandra!" Clem intones, pulling Barns to stare at her, "I know yer' hurtin' cause o' Marcus but—"

"She's doing it for me!" Gizelle pushes into the screen, Barns and Clem staring down at the phone as the young blonde composes herself. "This isn't about personal hang ups. You two know what's happening at the end of the month and why this is so important. There's something the ZPD isn't telling us, and whatever that is, the answer is in  _there._ " She's already won them over, the lot of them painfully fearful of that entire sordid affair in the coming weeks. "We need to see it," she continues. "There's no guarantee that Nick and Judy will tell me, and even then, I need to work that interview armed with that knowledge."

There is a moment of silence, long and thick in the air as Gizelle and An shift uncomfortably. An knows she might have pushed them too hard and it certainly isn't cool of her to trick them into coming here, but Gizelle needs this, and so An needs them to be braver than they actually are.

Barns grits his teeth, takes Clem's hand. "We'll do it," he says, much to his relief, sporting more resolve than he actually has.

They shamble over the wall beside the residence's attached bakery, Clem falling over Barns as she scales it after him. "Careful you two," Gizelle warns.

"And not a sound when you get in there," An adds, her tone worrisome and uncomfortably out of character. "We don't know who they got stationed there to watch over the evidence."

Clem goes for the door with a pair of handy lockpicks, but it somehow isn't locked, making the goat sigh sadly. "And here I thought I'd try it for once." She pushes into the door, Barns following after.

There is a tension in the room when they all hear a creaking inside the bakery. They sneak in slowly through the hall then behind the counter, spotting the only light in the area pouring out of the living room and otherwise bleeding off the moon through the large glass windows.

They almost shriek at the second creak. But then it's followed by a groan and a snore.

Exchanging glances, they peer over the counter, spotting a snoring deputy in a blanket splayed across a booth.

With a sigh of relief, they push on with less worries. They still peek slowly into the living room, but it's clear. They round the corner, walking with some confidence towards the hall beside the staircase, down towards the basement.

They near the door but a noise is made atop the steps, but before they can even look up, Senior Deputy Tali lands before them, having vaulted over the railing. "Okay," she says sternly, crossing her arms, "what the hell are you two doing trespassing on a restricted area? You two  _aren't_ deputies anymore."

They stammer and barely come up with words, let alone excuses. In this time, An and Gizelle share a glance.

This entire scenario is a bad idea and there's likely something ill-advised about sending civilians to a crime scene, but they need to know. And they'll take any consequences for it.

"Let us talk to her," An says over the video call.

Tali recognizes the voice instantly, a mixture of shock and mild embarrassment that colors her cheeks. "An? Is that you?"

An comes up on the phone beside Gizelle, their expressions grim. They can't be apologetic, though. Not with this. "Yeah, Hotshot, it's me."

"Okay," she crosses her arms, no less frustrated but much more confused, "so what the hell is going on here?"

An turns to her partner who nods silently, placing a hand on the frail girl's wrist to give her strength before turning back to Tali with a resolve that only barely breaches passed the fear in her eyes. "Gizelle needs to see what's down there."

Tali looks abhorred by the notion. "Look, guys, it's all in the report, you don't-"

"It isn't!" Gizelle shouts, immediately covering her mouth in embarrassment. "It isn't," she says, calming herself. "It's barely even mentioned, and it doesn't shed any light to what it is. Please, Tali, if I'm going to make any difference, I need to see what's down there. I need to know how Terry felt when he walked down there for the first time, I need to know why Creed won't even hear the Hector name."

The kangaroo takes a deep breath, escaping through strangled lungs, twisting her expression. Gizelle is right, of course. She needs all the help she can get to make this work, but she can only do it by experiencing it firsthand…

The silence from the officer nearly kills Gizelle with anxiety. "Please, even if you just tell me, that might be-"

"No," Tali says, stopping her, "no…" She doesn't meet their eyes as she leans against the wall. "If you need that emotional impact, you have to go down there and see it for yourself. Telling you won't be enough by comparison."

Barnaby and Clementine take each other's hands as they take the opening Tali gives them.

"Thank you," Gizelle says over the mic.

"You won't be thanking me after what you'll see down there."

They descend the steps into darkness, accented by the biting cold emanating off the walls. Tali is certain she'll regret sending them down there. Really, she could have just put on the cam herself and spare Barnaby and Clem the horror of witnessing it, but it's a necessary sacrifice, bitter and cruel as it is.

A deputy chimp slips out of the ajar garage door, walking up to her. "Was that really advised, ma'am?"

She runs a hand down her throat, looking away as she tries to numb the growing pain, shutting her eyes, and daring still to perhaps walk off so she doesn't hear them when it happens, but she stands her ground, unmoving, with a defeated sigh wafting from her dry lips. "Trust me. It's the only way he doesn't win."

Down below, they happen upon the first room, clean and tiled, even a canal system in a square shape, caged to prevent catching someone's foot, and a grill sitting against the wall. "Hm, indoor grillin'," Barnaby comments, trying to lighten the mood. He gets an appreciative squeeze of his hand from Clem but she doesn't say a word.

They look around a bit more, but the only oddity is a slightly bent hook on the ceiling. Unstained and barely worn out.

"Move on," An tells them, "there isn't much here."

They do so, moving towards a set of thick plastic blinds. Inside they see another set of plastic blinds boxing the central area, grilled canals lining the outer rim of the box. Clem walks cautiously into the center, leading Barns as they breach the plastic.

The metallic tables are what they see first.

Clem inspects the straps as does Barns on the other end. "No signs o' strugglin' in these things," she says.

Barns nods in agreement. "Not a single bend in the weldin'. If'n they were strapped, they weren't awake."

"Or were too weak to even try," An adds grimly.

Clem's frown furthers from the comment, drawing her eyes away, but quickly finding a hint of something against a wall. She moves over to the wall beside the entrance of the room.

"Where 're ya' goin, Clem?"

She doesn't respond, walking through the plastic barrier once more. Pulling out her phone to alight the wall more clearly. "Respirators," she says.

"All sizes," Gizelle adds as Barns joins Clem's side, scanning the wall and its equipment.

There are canisters on the table as well, all fit into stands made of wood, alongside one already hooked up to a nozzle. Clem turns one over. "Anesthetics."

"What kind o' experiments were they doin' down here?" he posits, eyes locked onto the elephantine respirator hanging highest off the wall.

"Keep looking," Gizelle tells them.

They turn back to the center, Clem's flashlight breaching the plastic to spy something shimmering against the opposite wall. "What's that?"

Barns takes the lead this time, reclaiming Clem's hand as they approach. But An already knows what it is, gasping when they get only an inch closer. She doesn't say anything, and Gizelle only has a moment to look at her partner before the other two gasp as well.

Her eyes return to the screen, watching Barns stagger at the sight of the multitude of blades hanging off the wall. Various sizes, made for cutting bone or severing entire limbs in one go, and a stained chain hanging ominously on the side. But what catches her eye the most are the items on the table beneath it.

There's a wide hammer and a large iron nail that almost looks like a plain iron chunk. The end is neatly sharpened but shows signs of constant use.  _They used that to kill quickly, a single nail through the head ends the life._ There's also a hunk of bronze with sharpened end, a blood stain dried against it.  _Sigurd Mason's severed arm..._

An pipes up. "What's that below the table?"

"W-what?" Barns stammers before Clem taps his shoulder to look down. They crouch to get a better view of the item. All they see is a bucket, stained all over, even the white sticker on its side has been dyed a dark red.

"What were they doin'…?" Barns can't shake the thought out of his head.

"Ah' don't understand…" Clem intones, feeling horror creep through her as the pieces refuse to fall into place in her mind.

"They ate them…" Gizelle says, eyes wide.

" **What!?** " the two shout, looking down at the phone, only to see Gizelle's horrified expression looking into nothing, and An beside her, staring at her friend with the same amount of terror they feel.

"The nail kills them," she whispers, voice carrying over only because they've raised the volume. "Hang the body by the legs in the other room and slice the neck open, and the bucket drains the blood. The blades cut the dry bodies into pieces. The grill cooks them afterwards." She chokes, struggling to mask her tears. "They were cannibals… they were  _eating people._ "

Barnaby steps away from the blades, backing into the plastic blinds in the center. He kneels down covering his mouth. He turns, looks up at them and the bloody history they've marred this room with, haunting its walls with silent, screamless deaths. His breathing picks up, and Clem is already starting to sob, just about ready to hurl.

"Kayla?" His head tilts, eyes wide. "Mason?" he begins muttering just as Clem tries to turn to him for strength, finding none. The scream she makes seems to echo along the walls, resonating with the ghosts bleeding into its walls.

Upstairs, the deputy tries to come down to them, but Tali grabs him by the shoulder and shakes her head. Because Gizelle needs to not only see what they did, but also witness how it affects its people, those who know exactly what happened. But unlike herself or Terence, Barns and Clem are unrestrained.

Cause they're not deputies. They're civilians,  _people,_  who have stared in the face of a demon, and smiled at him once upon a time with innocence so vivid and ignorant, that the world they'd witnessed buried beneath the bakery is a hellish landscape of an insatiable hunger that at any moment in the years they'd been here might have once been for them.

And the idea that all of them were so vulnerable to something so unspeakable, that the rampage of an unstoppable monster had only missed them by chance, is a fear Gizelle needs to understand.

So as Tali grasps her neck once more, she feels herself suffocating in the face of the screaming downstairs. But this knowledge feels like a curse, and the screams they hear are drowned by their own, blasting in the muted expanse of a put-away madness echoing in their minds.

**~̧̢̢̕͠~̴́͞~҉̨o̢͝0̨͡Ó̢̕0̴̸o̸͡͡~̴̢͢~̛̀~̧̀**

_His footsteps echo across the floor, reverberating visibly as if stepping into still, shallow water. He feels his body stiffen, numbing itself from sensations that one side of him struggles to feel, but ignored by whatever creature mars his body, leaves it invisible scars that run deeper than any wound. As if his soul has been corrupted._

_But it doesn't feel like that. He feels comfortable in his skin for once, unrestrained and uninhibited, showing more color in his reflection against the tiled walls than it ever has before._

_He enters the main room, but as he spots his father at the metallic table looking over a small animal strapped into it, he feels unreal, the scenario so detached from reality that his body seems to move on its own._

_He approaches his father within the blinds, standing on the opposite side of the table, looking down at the unconscious little Kayla Rivers slumbering over it. His eye catches the gleam of a cleaver sitting beside her head._

_Marcus had instructed that Kayla's neck is so thin and soft that they don't need to drive a nail through her head. All he needs to do is to cut her neck cleanly._

_He doesn't take the cleaver yet, only half listening to the words his father says. Something about choice cuts and how to skin her, but Marshal already knows how to do that to birds and he's had more than enough hands-on lessons from Quagmire Green about how to get the best parts off a gator._

_But then his father goes silent._

_Marshal picks up the cleaver, looking at Marshal who only nods at him._

_His eyes drift to Kayla, the memories of being her babysitter — the joyous moments of witnessing her youth blossom into a young woman — seem to slip out his mind, vanishing into some abyss, ridding him of his once ironclad connection to her, granting him some catharsis as sensations leave him. And in that moment of estranged, soothing, apathy, the cleaver falls._

Marshal awakes with a stifled startle, his eyes drifting hazily along the car door before him, blinking at the sun. It's a bright day, not even a little cloudy, which is aesthetically rather jarring, given that he's here to attend a funeral.

One he'd caused.

Audrey, who he supposes is his girlfriend again, is nudging him with her head, trying to rile him awake, but she's barely awake herself. She'd stayed up last night worrying about whether or not she should even attend.

Eli might have been a friend of hers but she feels like she'll hate herself for not crying at the funeral. She's already shed her tears, she couldn't make more. But Marshal takes comfort in that little quirk of hers, because she'll at least be okay enough to smile later.

He nudges her back, letting her know he's awake already, and she groans, silently complaining that she has to get up and actually  _move._

But even as he chuckles under his breath, the rest of his friends in the car groan in protest. An anteater sitting at the driver's seat even manages to tell him to keep it down. The rest of them had their own varying excuses for staying up. Whosever idea it was to cram the sleepy side of his friends in the same car is an idiot.

The rest of them are likely already out at the funeral, and it's about time they did too.

Marshal only rolls his eyes when they complain once more. He decides to up and leave them behind, but not before slamming the door shut behind him, much to their dismay.

The funeral itself seems like a fine little processional, but he can tell Ross isn't wholly there. He's forced into doing this, but he does well to hide it often enough. He doesn't want to have to make a speech about his dead wife or talk with some optimism about her to people who don't know her the way he does. They're lowering an empty coffin – or as he would say, an empty _fucking_ coffin.

But his coup hadn't been so long ago, and now he has to save face, and the townsfolk had been badgering him about when the funeral was gonna be. He wanted to find the body first (not that there would be one, but they don't know that) but as the de facto sheriff, he needs to maintain a certain image, and the one where he doesn't care about how people think he should treat losing his wife can't be something he should put up.

Marshal pities him, really, but the sympathy is lost in the bitter taste in his mouth. Cause he can't even say anything meaningful, given that he'd been responsible for this mess, and that if he ever slipped up and sounded disingenuous, it might tip him off.

Still, another part of him, deep inside, takes some errant pleasure in his handiwork, but with it comes a cold façade, sparing nothing but a blank look that could be mistaken for sadness instead of apathy. And he rolls with it, listening to the priest and hearing Ross's speech with a small smile every once in a while in an attempt to appear moved.

But then the ceremony winds down and out, and now he's walking with the lot of his friends through the area.

He maneuvers his way to the back with Audrey by slowing down enough times so no one knows what he's doing. But Audrey herself has her suspicions, but with the way she's blushing all the time, it might be about something else entirely.

She bumps into him on purpose, giving him a coy smile which he can only gawk at. She takes his hand in hers as they walk, making sure that their friends just in front of them don't see. They don't normally like showing such open affections in public, but she knows he's been bothered all day and he knows she's still reeling from all the loss.

And it's moments like these that he can say he genuinely loves her, and that he hopes that despite everything that he is, that she might love him unconditionally in the end. But it's a flightful fantasy, one lingering off the edge of a dream he's almost certain will never come true.

The sad smile is apparent, and she just about makes to ask about it, but then his hand slips out of her fingers, falling straight down as Elira Rundi's ring falls out of his sleeve into his gloved hand. And in one smooth motion, his arm extends passed her back, places it on Eli's grave as they pass it by, then settles his open palm on Audrey's waist, tugging her in.

His eyes stay locked on her, even if he's focusing on his periphery on Ross and Calvary speaking to each other underneath the tent the grave is cradled in.

When they find the ring, their screaming can only be seen on his perch on the hilltop where they'd parked their car. His expression is blank, delighting ever so slightly in the chaos he creates, but a part of him feels ill, poisoned by his machinations.

"Marsh!" someone calls out to him.

For a moment before he turns, he lets that other side of him bleed out, cresting the thin taciturn line of his lips into a subtle yet very real frown as his heart breaks. But it steels itself the moment after, turning to his friends with a smile.

A little piece of him dies that day.

**~o~~~~o~**

"Spruce Wamancht…" Nick says as he stares at the case file, the photo of the mature chimp smiling back at him, with a few of the hunting club poking out of the sides of the photo, trying to get in on his profile. They seem happy,  _he_ seems happy, lost in a simpler time where all of this is just a bad dream. "…presumed dead, perhaps in the swamp."

Judy doesn't answer, her eyes fixed to the ceiling, trying to bring herself out of her own stupor. But the room is deathly still and far too quiet tonight, keeping her on edge. Even Nick's apartment rattled when the trains passed by in unison or when the neighbors were having a party, but it made the place feel more alive. Here, though? This office just makes her feel paranoid.

Nick doesn't try to catch her attention. He knows what she's going through and, honestly, he'd been lagging behind on the work by comparison. She deserves to not have to look through these papers again.

Not that he doesn't deserve the same. It feels like he's aged quite a bit since the case, and he hasn't felt this kind of jump since he'd started doing cons.

Nick runs a hand over his face. He doesn't want to ever feel this old again, cause it's going to kill him one day, he's sure.

"Goddard Smith," Judy says suddenly, his eyes tracing the somber features on her face as she physically resists meeting his eyes. "Presumed—" She bites her lip, unwilling to continue, but now can't help but look up at him. "Nick…" There are no words she can say that could alleviate the pain darkening his eyes, nothing that could save him from the haunting memories.

But that is only because that onus is on him.

"Goddard Smith," he says, forcing a solemn smile as he eyes the photo of his old friend, "will be remembered fondly." He wishes he could have spent more time catching up, perhaps pushed him in the direction of a girl or maybe grabbed some coffee in the very least.

He'd told himself there was time for that later. Now all that time is robbed of him.

The brave face he puts on is weak, matching her own as she shimmies out of her large seat and maneuvers over their tables to sit at the edge before him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" he asks with a coy grin. "Maybe about my…" he tries to come up with a good joke but none come and the smile fades. He's trying. He's really,  _seriously_ trying to be his old self, but the farce is gnawing at him to let go.

So he does.

Judy reaches out, her hands cupping his cheeks as she draws him in, forehead to forehead.

Nick can't bring himself to sob openly. Not yet, not when there's no funeral yet. But tears find their way through his shut lids, whimpering in the quiet of their office.

His hands grab her waist, pulling himself in to hold the whole of her. She thinks he does it to desperately take in her warmth in an attempt to comfort himself.

But he does it only because he fears he'll lose her too, clinging to her scent and the feel of her embrace and treasuring the sound of her still beating heart.

" _If it_ is _a woman, then you take her home, love her till it hurts, and then… love her some more."_

**~̡͏̷̸͘~́͟͢~̷͢͢͡ò̢͡0̷͠O̡҉0҉̵̛̛͝ǫ̴̨͘͡~̷̷~̨~̛**

When Marshal was young, well before he'd even met Fyfly, he'd been terribly afraid of what lurks in the dark. The sinister, shapeless creatures that linger in every child's wild imagination about what stalked them in the night. But today, in the broad daylight of the afternoon, he finds that there is some surreal quality to being such a creature.

He'd stalked prey in these swamps before, normally gators with a particular bounty on their heads for benign acts such as destroying a gun or scaring a child, or something more menacing such as being overly aggressive or harming someone or their pet. But in those days, he'd nary a thought to such a creature's life. They are, after all, only mindless and wild, and so apathy is necessary for putting down these dangerous beasts. And it isn't like there would even be a shortage of gators.

But as the days go by, his sympathy seems to dwindle for actual people, and he can feel it reaching into his core. The sense that something is missing, or is stolen from him, a part he once deemed integral. But apathy reigns, even now as he shifts through the trees and tall grass, watching the gun shop's assistant, Goddard Smith, walk wearily through the swamp, and all Marshal can think is that he is cautious prey.

A quality he isn't quite sure excites or terrifies him.

The oryx looks back into the trees behind him, staring long into the tall grass then into the adjacent waters before shaking his head. He feels like he's being watched, but it seems like he'd been doing it since before he even got here. Like he'd been stalked from all the way home.

But Marshal had only been here in the forest, waiting for him, considering a new target, be it Smith or Spruce.

Since his uncle Raeger's death, Smith – under Creed's surreptitious employ – would usually come here to feed the gators so they aren't hungry during the club's scheduled hunts. Synthetic meats and leftovers from around town go for the mulch here and it does the trick for the most part, and the club is none the wiser to the added precaution for their safety, all to ensure that history does not repeat itself.

Almost ironic really, given that today, it almost certainly will, and almost in the exact same spot.

He gets up from the grass when Smith's distance furthers, showing clear signs of trying to calm himself in the face of his own maddening – albeit justified – paranoia.

Marshal does not continue his approach. He eyes the patterns in the canopy, familiarizing himself with the internal map he'd honed into his memory. Then he orients himself on the side of the path towards the lake, spotting a nest resting on one of the branches nearby, cautious of the camera hidden within.

Spruce Wamancht is the defunct watchman of the swamp, and he'd kept a wireless surveillance system across its popular areas to make sure everyone's safe. He'd used it to alarm hunters of sneaky gators or, failing that, used it to heroically come in at the last minute to save them.

He's a good man, Spruce, but it'll do him no good here. The lake is too far away from his home to get there in time. And by the time Smith is dead, Spruce would arrive by the dock, only to be sprung into a trap.

However, there is no doubt that Smith's strange behavior has already caught Spruce's attention. Suspiciously so, he's sure. But Spruce's curiosity makes him predictable. He'll sooner see what Smith does rather than go out here and ask him why he's so worked up. He won't approach until there's a clear sign of immediate danger, so unless a gator doesn't crawl up the path, one that Smith can't clear on his own, then Spruce likely won't even show himself.

But it's a small comfort that Marshal can rely on, because people can be unpredictable at times, acting out of their own expected behavior. So as the chances might be low, they aren't zero.

Marshal skims the path, keeping a good distance between him and Smith, keeping in mind his father's teachings about tailing someone safely.  _Rule o' thumb about stalkin' your prey is the thumb itself. Raise your thumb and make sure that your target doesn't get larger than your thumb but not much smaller either. Too far and you'll lose 'em, too close and you'll run the risk o' losin' an escape route._

He's not as quiet as he'd like to be, he isn't quite as good as his father is yet, but it comes with the years of experience with hunting, and he'll catch on, but the way the swamp breathes around him, the environment serving to blend him into the background with every push and sway in the wind across the tall grass or carry his scent down the river towards the lake, presents him with the illusion that he has perhaps garnered some semblance of his father's mastercraft.

But the illusion shatters when, in all his gawking, he'd failed to notice Smith vanish from view.

He blinks as pulls his head out of the grass, scanning the area for clear signs of movement.

The dirt road gives him something to track, following the footprints faintly pressed into the dirt and mud.

He shakes his head, more than a little frustrated that he'd lost focus for a moment there, and it might cost him his target. But still, his father had told him to play it safe, so he considers turning back and coming back another day, but there's an inkling of something else he's too curious to let go of.

Smith didn't come here with a sack of mulch to feed the gators. He'd come with only his coach gun, and nothing else. He's here looking for something, and the gun is a precaution. But why come alone?

He presses on instead, and when he happens upon the clearing by the lake, he realizes why Smith had come.

He sees the oryx eying the water and the dock, looking through the shack and such, but never touching anything. Something large enough for just his eyes and not needing to move anything around means it's something fairly large. But the only thing of relevance given that is the raft Marshal himself had stolen.

A pity that that would end up killing him. Rather ironic that it wouldn't be because of gators either.

_Only strike when you have every certainty that your prey has completely let his guard down. Do not spoil a hunt with impertinence or impatience. We are creatures of tact, do not demean yourself by actin' without thought._

He skims the treeline, circling the clearing as Smith busies himself, but his time frame is short. Smith enters the shack by the dock, giving Marshal the opportunity to close the distance, inching his way quickly through the trees to near the structure.

But suddenly, Smith emerges from the shack and stares outward onto the dock, keeping his eyes across the lake as he makes his way behind the shack and out of sight.

Marshal curses under his breath as he decides to abandon his caution for fear of losing him again, steadying himself as he jogs quietly to the shack. He maneuvers to the shack's edge to peer over the side, only to find no sign of Smith anywhere.

Then, to his terror, he hears Smith round the corner behind him, and it's already too late to react. "Hands up, Marshal!"

He turns to find Smith leveling his coach gun at him, breathing heavily just like himself. There is a panic they share in this moment, a crushing sense of something irreversible lingering hard in the air, like there's a miasma seeping in from another world.

A sense of defeat washes over Marshal as his panicked eyes meet those of his target, who has readily turned the tables on him. His father would have never gotten caught, and he only has himself to blame. He'd panicked, and now it looks like his time is up.

But Marshal refuses to believe this is the end. Not here, not now, not when he still has doubt, not when he still thinks there's a chance of getting his old life back.

His revel wrinkles his brow, and the twitch makes the oryx panic. "I'm warnin' ya'!"

"Smith, what're you doin'?" he asks, trying to keep his voice uneasy so he seems innocent, even raising his arms in surrender.

But Smith is an intelligent mammal, and an overcautious one at that. "Don't play dumb with me, Marshal!" He shakes his head, gritting his teeth at the pig. "Ain't nobody else's car anywhere near mine fer miles when I drove out 'ere, and ain't no else's was in the parkin' lot. You'd have either walked all the  _god damn_  way out 'ere, Marshal, or you hid yer' car."

He needs to turn the tables. Smith is too smart for his own good so he has to appeal to his sense of morality. It's the only reason why he hasn't just pulled the trigger already. "Why don't we just… calm down now, Smith. Ya' seem to be goin' a little crazy out here alone."

The oryx doesn't budge, taking a dangerous step forward. And even though it hasn't been recently fired, Marshal can swear he can smell the barrel smoking already. "No way I'm lettin' my guard down in front o'  _Carrion!_ " he shouts in adamant defiance, favoring his survival even in the face of doubt.

Marshal tries again, he has to. He needs to make him think his assumptions are crazy. It would help if he could think up excuses for being out here but none come in time. "I think you're losin' it, Smith."

"You ain't gonna think  _nuthin'_  when I shoot you dead!" Smith's condition worsens, and in the face of an old friend struggling with a grave choice, Marshal can't help but feel fear.

And this fear is overwhelming, cause it's more likely that he'll die here rather than end up in jail. And he wonders how that alternative is even any better. If he lives and ends up in jail, he'll lose everything. The woman he loves will leave him, his friends and family will look at him like a monster, his father might end up trying to take the blame and just end up in jail with him. And that fear sets in, sinking icy sensations into his skin as his heart rate accelerates, thrumming in his eardrum like a thunderous shellshock.

He feels his sense of self slipping, a great part of him choking in the face of a life he once had becoming a distant memory. And in that moment, that part of him seems to die.

"On yer' knees, Marshal! Don't make me shoot!"

His body feels numb, but now it no longer knows that pain, that panic, that fear. And his eyes turn dark, challenging even as he looks at Smith with a cold glare, lowering his arms. "Then do it."

The doubt sinks back in, any and all resolve Smith had built up, dying in the face of a man unafraid. "W-what?"

Marshal's voice is even, confident in a way that is certain but not proud. He is calm in a disarming way, as if the gun that can clear his head off his shoulders isn't part of the equation.

"If I really am the man you say I am then by all means, pull the trigger. If yer' right, then you'd have done the town a huge favor, and would have given all those old souls some peace. But if'n yer; wrong, you'd have killed an old friend, just one soul that might be unjustly taken fer the chance it might be well deserved. But does that really outweigh the chance to save hundreds, maybe thousands, of sufferin' an ill fate? Is the chance that yer' wrong small enough that you might pull the trigger regardless."

Smith doesn't know how to answer that, hands sweating as his grip on the gun loosens. "I-I…!" He shakes his head, grunting as he steels himself once more. "No! I'm sure of it! Yer' too suspicious and any normal person woulda given their reason by now. You've yet to come up with one. Didn't prep for it."

His eyes are hard, almost angry, but they're a façade hiding the coward still quivering underneath, hoping Marshal quails and just gives in to save his own skin. His stance is suddenly firm once more, but it's an act. A believable one for sure, but one that Marshal doesn't buy.

Marshal's resolve defeats his, as it is steady and unwavering, one that is true and unbreakable. And the oryx begins to crack.

Smith's features soften, as the hard line of his lips wilts into a frown, his grip loosening evermore as his heart sinks.

He doesn't want to accept that Marshal is Carrion. "Jus' tell me it ain't you, Marshal," he says with a whimper. "Say it ain't so. Tell me you ain't 'im…"

Marshal only shrugs. "I'd hate to lie to ya'."

Smith isn't even surprised at the admission, but he can't bring himself to tighten his grip on his gun, can't bring himself to hold out on the threats. He isn't as strong as he thought he might be.

Marshal sighs, a meager sign of some honest pity in his voice. "I'm sorry, Smith, but I know fer a fact that you ain't got none o' the gumption to pull that trigger."

Smith just about surrenders.

"Put your gun down, Smith!" comes the hardy voice of Spruce Wamancht, emerging from the path. His glock is at the ready, poised at the oryx with the kind of resolve he wishes he had.

Smith only panics, raising his gun again as he gawks at them both. He doesn't know what to think.

"Get behind me, Marshal," Spruce commands, sparing a glance at Marshal's suddenly fearful expression before the pig shuffles clumsily behind him.

"Spruce," Smith manages, as he keeps his gun up, "ya' don't understand!"

The monkey is unwilling to let his own guard down, being almost as stubborn as Smith. Marshals slides behind him as he tries to placate the oryx, but for all his caution, he lets his guard down with him at his back.

"Smith, you know I'm here to protect all of you." Spruce continues, raising a calm hand as he loosens his grip on his pistol in a show of good faith. "Put your gun down, and let me do that. We can sort this out when we've calmed down a little, right? You can trust me."

Smith wants to trust that Spruce could take care of it all, maybe clear the air and prove that Marshal is innocent. But he can't because his senses are screaming at him to not give in, self-preservation dominating his every facet. "Spruce, I—I…!" But then Marshal pulls out a dagger. "Look out!"

"Smith, don't—Hrk!" Marshal plunges the blade into his kidney, his other hand grasping his unarmed wrist over his back.

Smith tries to react by pulling up his gun and fires off a shot, but Marshal uses the dagger to pull Spruce's back between them, and the buckshot litters the man's back. Then, all in the same motion, Marshal discards his wounded shield, rotating his arm quickly as he rips out the dagger from Spruce's side then tosses the weapon at Smith's forehead.

It flies true, striking the oryx with such a force that it almost breaks into his skull, earning a pained scream from him. He reaches for the weapon, dropping his own instantly, but Marshal is already upon him, rushing to the smaller man to tackle him into the ground.

Smith's back slams into the dirt, winding him, but he doesn't even have the time to inhale as Marshal quickly grabs the knife and plunging it into his skull with a single push, parting his frontal lobe so quickly that he doesn't even feel his skull split, dying immediately.

Marshal produces a handkerchief to wipe the blood oozing from the man's forehead. He seems serene somehow, as if death was the release he was after, no longer quailing from a tense scenario, no longer needing to check his own back every now and then.

The sound of displaced dirt catches Marshal's attention however, looking back to see Spruce crawling towards his glock.

He gets up, feeling as if he's out of his own body, standing taller than he really is. And his steps towards Spruce are purposeful rather than menacing, as if mundane. And that sense of unerring apathy, drowning out the noises Spruce makes when Marshal kicks him in the face and presses a foot to his throat, takes with it a dreamlike quality.

Suddenly he's painfully aware that nearly an hour has passed and he's sitting at the dock's edge, watching the gators devour the corpses with some abject fascination.

Marshal gets up then, not quite sure what he'd done in between these moments or where he'd even put their guns. He even arrives at his van suddenly after that, a set of hard drives in his suddenly gloved hands, likely taken from Spruce's computers so he can dispose of the video evidence.

By the time he gets home, he's face first in the toilet, hurling at the unsightly memories that come crashing back into him, horrified at the man he'd seen in the mirror.

**~̛̀̕~̷̧̀͝~̡͞͏̷͞ǫ̵̴̕͞0̡̡͝҉O̧̕0̴̶͠o̷͘͟͝~̢̕̕͠~̷̢̛̀͠~̡҉̶̧͢**

Marshal descends the steps of the aviary, footfalls echoing out of the metallic stairway, clanging loud enough to drown out the sobbing he can hear above him.

The talk with Japeth had been rather harrowing. Having to talk about Kayla fondly despite being instrumental to her demise rings bitterly still on his tongue, and he swears he can still taste the bile. But with it comes a warning for the little otter, that he leave town lest he be taken away.

Marshal is dangerous, and perhaps his aura has taken that certain quality as well, but he has no real way of telling, and that bothers him. Because Japeth is rather perceptive, and he fears that he might have already figured out that he's Carrion.

But regardless of what he knows, the warning still rings true. And Japeth isn't foolish enough not to take it. He'll leave town soon enough, and he'll keep his lips shut, more out willful ignorance rather than fear.

He reaches the bottom of the steps and walks out into the street, watching the crows fill the autumn sky. And amongst the crows overhead, a single out of place raven nestles itself on top of a lamp post. It tilts its head at him, cawing with its beady eyes.

He smiles at it.

Perhaps it doesn't know it's a raven. Maybe it's been raised by crows, but ultimately it is an outcast masked in the crowd, hiding in plain sight.

_Some of us are resigned to the choices we make, and mine was stayin', followin' in my pa's footsteps. We can't take back these choices, Jap, they're what makes us who we are._

When the raven leaves, he is again left alone with his thoughts as he walks through the streets. His eye drifts to car windows where he finds his own reflection staring back at him, and wonders if he is truly so irredeemable.

The itch is still there, that wanton desire to take a life for no reason other than to take one. And it haunts him, lingering still as his fists furl then unfurl, a nervous racketing through his bones that cradle a body that is too strong for a baker, with skills no simple, wholesome man should know.

He passes the Graze Hotel, remembering nights spent here just to be alone with his thoughts. Today he feels like doing much the same again, perhaps with a drink or two just to wet his whistle.

He stands before the glass door, the lights from inside pouring some heady atmosphere of mirth out of whatever merriment is being made in there. He realizes that the glass doors are frosting, and that only ever happens when it's cold out or if the air conditioning is turned on.

Eyes scan over the lobby, which is nearly empty save for the Keen, the desk clerk, in some heavy winter wear. He's almost curious enough to step in, but he stops the minute he sees a grizzly bear with a fox on his shoulder emerge from the restaurant inside.

The Lucianos do like it cold.

He takes a cautionary step back, pulling himself out of view as he continues down the road. But he doesn't make it off the block, eyes shifting over to the building's side where the parking lot is.

Here, he thinks, is a chance for redemption, a true and noble purpose for his urges. And it lights a fire inside of him that practically screams with glee. Suddenly he doesn't feel so sick, and an overwhelming urge to right wrongs tightens in his balled fist.

Just about every vehicle in the lot is easily recognizable, a lifetime in a small town makes these things familiar in the very least. But a slate black van with a rhino and a jackal in custom suits are a clear sign of folk from the city.

He takes his dagger and sets it into his rear pocket. He takes a breath and approaches the two with a smile. His eyes glance at the camera sitting over the door and at the gate, making very sure that his approach to them in the middle of the area is unseen and not surveyed.

He finds them lounging by the open back of the van, the jackal twirling the keys around his finger in boredom while the rhino leans back against the door. Marshal immediately notes that the vehicle is completely tinted too, which will certainly aid him later.

"A mighty fine afternoon, isn't it?" he says as he catches their attention.

The female rhino looks at him surprised while her partner is cautious. "Hey, you're the baker's son, right?"

His grin widens at recognition. "Marshal Hector, at your service."

"Bella Reinhart," she says, extending a hand, "and this is my friend Lars."

"Abercrombie," he says, swinging his feet over the van's edge, "Lars Abercrombie." The jackal eyes him up and down, his look haughty and self-assured. "You 'ere to make a sale?" he asks, thick with a foreign, mid-western accent to it.

He chuckles. "Actually, I'm not. Made a delivery to a couple rooms here and, wouldn't ya' know, one o' the rooms is empty for some reason. So now I've got myself some fresh bread sittin' in my van out front that I ain't willin' to let go cold." The pair appears none the wiser. They even appear a little eager, and a little sheepish, at the impending offer of free food. "Now I noticed the lot o' your associates are in there drinkin' themselves down at way too early in the day while you two sit out 'ere all alone. So I thought I'd make myself some new acquaintances who might like to fill their bellies. What d'ya say?"

The rhino is almost in glee, trying to hide the light gleaming from her eyes, as if the Lord has sent her some relief. "Oh, I'd love to," she manages calmly. She walks a bit ahead, wanting ever so much to end her own hunger. "Out front, right?"

Marshal nods.

The jackal can't help but smile himself, delighting in his good fortune. "I'll 'ave to admit, all the talk o' this town's hospitality is exactly as advertised. You lot are almost too good to be true." He hops off the van's rear and walks up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks for this."

He almost regrets doing it. These people seem nicer than he'd thought the Luciano _crime_  family would ever be. But he has no time for doubt, no time to hesitate.

Lars walks ahead as well, but is only a few inches away from Marshal.

He takes out his dagger as he walks forward, and when he's just ahead, he jabs to the side, sliding his knife through the jackal's Adams apple and much of his throat. He chokes, kneeling immediately.

Bella hears the choking from behind, turning to what had happened. "Lars?" is all she manages to say as Marshal kicks her in the knee with more force than a pig his size should have. And as she falls on her other knee – before she can audibly yelp – Marshal swipes his dagger through her throat as well. He pivots his body with the blade, turning him as he quickly pockets the bloody blade with his back facing Bella.

She falls on him, spots in her eyes as her life drains from her body, feeling him hoist her on him, carrying her to the van.

He tosses her into the vehicle before taking the already dead jackal and placing him in there with her.

He shuts the door, and wipes clean the floor with some cloth from his pocket and some rubbing alcohol. It isn't perfect, but he'll make the actual delivery to the hotel tomorrow and then he'll come back to this spot.

Taking the keys out of the jackal's pocket after checking that they're both dead, and hopping into the front seat through the back, he pulls out of the area, thankful that he can't be seen through the glass.

He'll toss the bodies between three hills in the south passed the forest, acting as makeshift graves, and perhaps he'll keep the van hidden somewhere out of town to use later, maybe clear it of the blood too while he's at it.

And as he sits in that seat, considering his plans, he convinces himself that all the Lucianos would surely put up a pleasant front just to delude you. And they'll do that before ruining your lives.

The crime families are not to be trusted, he thinks, practically screaming at himself from the inside in the frail belief that it's true, even without the evidence.

He condemns them all.

Days pass and the mass grave is larger in practice than he'd imagined. The decaying flesh and its rancid effluvium would have been unsightly were it not strangely fascinating to him. And curiously still is the fact that many of the crows have flocked here to pick at the corpses, some dying in the great stench, trapped between their overeager kin who make it harder to fly out.

He sits up at the hill there, behind a few tries, lying perfectly still. The Lucianos had found the grave already and have stationed a few of their men here to keep watch for more dumping. One such guard, a wolf, passes him by in that moment. Suddenly he is pulled behind the tree, felled instantly by a dagger through the temple.

He'll toss him into the grave with the rest, maybe even make a show of it for the other two guards if he can have it roll down the hill.

He pulls out of the dark to eye the others as they busy themselves with anything other than looking at the mound below that is filled with their deceased friends, which is consequently away from him.

The crows swirl about before falling into the mess there, but one decides to land by him. But it isn't there for the fresh corpse, and Marshal quickly recognizes it as the raven from earlier in the week. He smiles as he runs a hand down its head and over its back, delighting in its greeting caw.

He decides to feed it then, tugging in the body so he can rip out an eye for it to eat. He thinks the term "an eye for an eye" might have worked a little better if he even knew what terrible things this Luciano even did in the past, but he supposes it doesn't matter.

They're all evil, he's sure, they  _have_ to be, and they deserve everything that's coming to them.

**~͢~̴̢͘҉~̀͟͡͡ơ҉0͠Ó̴̀͜0͘͘͟͠o̸̸̡̧̡~̶̶~͏̨̕̕͝~̀͢͟**

_They'd splintered, broken their own ranks in the mad pursuit of me. But they have left themselves vulnerable in this struggle for pride… I will seek recompense for this folly, chance that they might see the failure that is themselves in the blood of their allies. And perhaps then, they might see how they've fractured their own people, and just how much danger they've put them in with all their squabbling._

Marshal learned piano as a child under his mother's tutelage. He'd been terrible at it. Hours of practice behind the keys and it seemed like he'd never get a handle of the inflections. He'd learned the notes, memorized everything she'd given him, but he could never string the keys together to play a song with the right beat. In the end it seemed that he had no song in his heart.

But he'd loved hearing it, but only if she was playing. Karvina knew this, so she'd play for him regularly, if only to make him an enthusiast of the craft if he could never be a creator.

However, on her deathbed, Marshal had come into her room with a little electronic piano borrowed from the neighbors. And for the first and last time, she'd heard him play a song right. And it was beautiful.

Because his heart was never in the song. It was there, with her.

For Marshal, to simply play a written song is like imitating someone else's art. It may sound well and hit the right notes, but it'll be empty outside of the soothing coalition of sounds it emits.

A song played must have purpose to be worth listening to. To serenade or pay homage to what is deemably meaningful.

He'd learned this with his mother, and continued to learn for the same reason. And as his fingers dance over the keys, he plays again, for her.

He does not know who Chopin is or what he even did. All he is to Marshal is a name signed onto the piece, information that is nothing but trivia. But Nocturne is a beautiful song, and with it he serenades the room… meant to entice passersby.

Darley Welks, a hippo, eager and young, is tonight's target, and he'd already caught the man's attention this morning when he'd played for Calvary on his way to Eli's funeral so he might familiarize himself with the song once he plays it again later.

"You're really something, Marshal," the hippo compliments, sitting patiently on the side.

"Why, thank you, Darley. Truth be told, I don't often find good reason to play nowadays."

"Really? That's a shame. You've a real talent there."

Marshal shrugs. "Guess my heart's still in the oven."

Darley almost winces at that. As much as he'd love to gawk at Marshal behind the piano, he does so love the things he does with that brick oven of theirs. The world could stand to lose a pianist, he thinks, but a baker like this? Certainly not.

Which brings to mind something else. "So… what're you doing back tonight anyway?"

"Hm?" Marshal doesn't stop playing, in fact he only chuckles when he realizes that Darley's asking. "Oh, nuthin' really. I'd done all the cleanin' I was asked t' do and, well, pa put away the piano so I thought I'd play it here instead. You don't mind, do ya?"

"Oh no, not at all! It's just… well, you being here makes me worried about that bakery of yours. You folks in trouble with the money?"

"Is that all yer' worked up about? Ha! Friend, I'm just here t' help. Our orders have been a little lax lately and pa thought I should take a break. But I'm restless and wanted to do some honest work till I'm allowed in the kitchen again. So now I'm here."

Darley nods, thankful that Marshal takes no offense at all. He's usually quite nervous about saying the wrong thing to people but there's something about Marshal that's just easy to get along with.

"Oh! Speakin' o which, ya' mind helpin' me with somethin'?" he says as he pivots off the keys and faces Darley. "I've some old trays Calvary wanted t' borrow for the bake sale the school's tryin' t' set up, and I could use an extra pair o' hands."

The hippo is all too eager to comply, making his heart wrench. "Sure thing, Marshal."

They make it out the side of City Hall, and Darley only once asks out loud where all the other guards are. "Sorry, not like you'd know."

He only shrugs in response. Truth be told, he didn't think it'd be so easy to get everyone out of the building, but with An just recently in jail and her phone in his possession, it had almost been too easy.

There are so many ways he could have gotten Calvary alone, but he wants to do it this way, wants to see just how far he can push himself to pull something so elaborate off.

They find a black van parked out front, and Marshal surprises him by unlocking the back with a set of keys in his pocket.

"New van?"

"Pa wanted t' expand, get me my own fer delivery. Haven't tested it all that much yet. It's used and all but it works well enough but I got it real cheap, basically a steal, and I'm still wonderin' what's supposed to be wrong with it."

"Maybe they just really wanted to get rid of it?"

"I wouldn't know. The folks I got it off of were really just handlin' it fer their employer. Didn't even haggle, like somethin' else was botherin' 'em, somethin' more important than a used van."

"Sounds kinda shady." The hippo laughs, letting loose enough to joke around. "But, hey, it isn't like something illegal went on in there, did it?"

Marshal's tilted lip tells him otherwise.

"Oh…"

"Still," Marshal continues, "I'm confident in my cleanin' and it should be spick and span in there." He sets a foot into the van's rear. "Now it's getting' chilly out 'ere. Let's just get this done so we can go back inside."

The hippo gets in but it's a vehicle meant for moderate sized mammals, and he's quite large, so he more crawls his way in instead. "Get t' the end of the van. I placed the trays there. And grab as many as your hands can carry and ill stack them back here."

Darley nods as he shimmies inside, crawling over the plastic-covered floor. He even finds a bucket inside as he maneuvers in the dim lighting but ignores it. Soon enough he finds some metallic shelving bolted into the vehicle with the pans, but also finds them already filled with confectionaries. "Marshal, these trays ain't empty."

"Oh I know. I wanted to give 'em somethin' t' nibble on when they started."

"Sure you can spare all this?"

"Let me worry about that. Now grab the ones at the bottom. I botched the assembly so they're a little harder t' pull out. It'll be easier for the rest of the way if ya' start there."

He does so, tugging at one with some fresh cupcakes that are still a little warm. "It's a little stuck."

"Just keep pullin'. Yer a might stronger than I am so I'd have a harder time. Sorry for the trouble."

He tugs and tugs, but it doesn't give, the shelving practically squeezing the tray into place. He feels underneath it though, trying to find where it's holding it the most. But instead he finds a bolt linking it to the floor.

He doesn't have time to question it when he hears a meaty noise ring through the room, only to realize that a long blade has pierced his heart through the back and out of his chest, impaling him through and through. He looks down and tries to speak but blood bubbles from his mouth as he collapses onto the shelving.

Marshal wastes no time in propping his body up inside the van, suspending the corpse over the bucket as the long blade drips into it. He grabs a thermos from the glove compartment and pours a paint solution in to mix with the amassing blood.

Preparations are almost complete, and now the third bucket is almost ready for his new project.

Marshal pulls out of the van with a bag and pulls out a set of rocks tied to a string, and sets them up by a window. He'll jump out of here soon enough when he's done with locking down the anteroom where the piano is and prepping to decorate the adjacent ballroom.

He enters the City Hall once more, delighted in the granular time frame he'd provided himself with. The confusion with the guards will last a while and the surveillance he'd cleared just an hour ago. He surely has more time than he expects, but he's restricting himself strictly, so he has to work fast.

He enters through the front door, and takes a left in the hallway into the ballroom. He stares up at the ceiling, considering where he'll place his message this time. He'd already given it to Creed and Ross preemptively, but he wants to be here for this one. He wants to ensure that Calvary of all people hears him out.

Not that he's the only one to blame. They've all had a hand in it. But somehow he wants to witness Calvary in his rawest form. That angry, broken man, with murder in his eyes, soiling the very soul of a man Marshal once considered infallible.

**̶̡̡̕~̡҉̴̢~͏̵~̕͠ó̢0̸̨͘O̶̴̵̷͝0͜o̧͞~̶̀͡~̷̡͟͝͠~̧̨̡̕͝**

He plays for Calvary, alone in City Hall, the soft melodies of his song wafting through the air, a familiar, one he's certain he'll recognize once he's had a moment to think on it. But he does pick up on it sooner than expected. And already he can hear the lion ramming against the door.

It doesn't give, of course, he'd made sure of that. And his screaming, calling him out by his delightfully baleful title "Carrion", trying to resound over the music. He chuckles to himself, finding more pleasure in it than he thought he might have.

The thundering of footsteps away from the door comes next, telling him that his plan is working exactly the way it should.

He hears him set upon the grass out front and not long after does Calvary's fist slam through one of the squares in the window, trying to undo the latch, but the knot is hard tied into place and won't budge. Of course he tries to cut it, but it won't do him much good, because Calvary's claws are mostly dull.

Honestly, he'd hoped that the windows would go untouched, but locking them up is a contingency, all to ensure things go as planned.

Then Calvary runs around the building, but by then the song is over. He can tell the tension is rising for the once stoic mayor, and his panic takes a delightfully sadistic quality.

Still, he can't stay. So he rises from his seat, jogging to the window and undoing the knot in a single pull, and already he can hear his father start pulling up by the building in his van.

The window flies open and, with a running start, he jumps over it like a trained track runner, landing precisely on the rocks he'd placed in the grass to mask his footprint in the dirt, tugging the string along as he swiftly hops into the black van's passenger seat and drives off with his father.

Marcus later asks him how it had gone.

"Without a hitch," he replies, "and without a trace."

Marcus nods, but his worrisome expression goes unnoticed. His son is taking some sadistic pleasure out of all this. Much like he did when he mocked the police during his run as Carrion.

And he fears what the life he's allowing him to have will do to him. What terrible, horrible things his son will grow up to commit.

So he needs to save him somehow, needs to end his spree before he ultimately gets caught and loses the life he'd dreamed for him. But he can't talk him out of it, can't have his own son questioning his wisdom. But he's too far gone. He needs a jolt, a reason to push away from himself.

Marcus watches him as he always does across the dinner table. There's a lot of meat from the hippo, though much of his face was covered in blemishes to consider eating. Infected tissue is unfit for the table. The doe and the wolf had been delightful morsels but now the rest just looks like it's a bit much.

He does, however, eat most of it, as his son seems to be generally disinterested in the meat. Marcus himself could have shared in the disdain, as only the faintest hints of the hunger still linger in him. But it is easily pushed away, quick to be forgotten. All it really does is make it easy to eat, the meat never bothers him.

But Marshal does not share his father's love for the code they'd given themselves. The 'natural order of things' is, to him, a mere justification for his atrocities, letting his father sleep soundly at night, at peace with himself. That if nature grants him these urges, this irresistible urge to kill, then certainly it cannot be wrong to embrace it, lest he deny himself what he feels is an integral part of his natural being.

But Marshal needs no such quailing comforts. What he does is instrumental to his wishes, that he only takes a life simply because he wills it. There is no devil on his shoulder nor mother nature's call to his baser instincts demanding something of him. He simply desires to kill, and  _that_ is his calling as he so desires it.

And now it seems that he is without sympathy, like the old him has died with his victims. Now all that remains is that apathetic beast.

In the face of it, staring at his corrupted, unhinged child, Marcus decides to do as he ought to as a father.

And when the ZPD come knocking at his door, he becomes the persona his son has created, and takes all the blame for himself.

**̨͜͝~̵̴̵̛҉~̸̶̛̀͝~̸͠ò̀0̢̢̡̛͝O̸0̀͜͞o͝~̵̧̨~̛́̕͜~̴̛͞**

_I use t' work at the local highschool as one of its cooks. I'd taken a lot of odd jobs around town over the ten years my father stopped killin', but it was all meant to get the lay of the land, preparin' myself for the eventuality of my turn in Loki's cap. And there I'd learned where t' find the crow costume, unguarded with locks so simple and worn you could unlock them with a pair o' scissors. And I did. So when it came to meetin' Officer Sam for the first time, it came with such a sense o' ease that I almost felt myself growin' overconfident. But it had all gone accordin' t' plan, neither hitch nor folly. And that came with somethin'… incredible. I felt untouchable, I felt powerful, like I couldn't be stopped. And perhaps it might've been that same hubris that terrified my pa when he thought t' end his killin' spree. Cause all that power… it changes a man. But unlike him, I did not fear that change._

**I embraced it.**

**~̷̴̨͟~̢̨́~̀̕o̸͢͠҉̢0̸̶͞Ơ̷̛͟0̧̕͠͞o̡͞͞~͘͢͠҉͝~̛͘͢͠~҉̷̧͢**

The flashing red and blue lights emanating outside of his property sends a chill down his spine, and with him having been numb for a few days already, it's an uncomfortable notion, terrifying even, alienating his stoic sensibilities.

He crosses slowly down the sidewalk towards the amassing crowd standing outside of his own home, some turning to meet his eyes and shying away, others fearful of him.

But his eyes soften when he breaches the crowd, spotting his father in the backseat of a cop car, being driven away with Creed at the wheel.

His heart stops, a shortening of breath that almost causes him to panic, but he tries to hold fast.

"Don't pity him," comes the poisoned, baleful voice of Calvary Pride, nursing his aching neck. He'd clearly gotten into a brawl with his father, and he'd clearly lost.

"What's happened?" he asks no one in particular, eyes heavy in disbelief, a deep seeded fear creeping into them.

No one answers.

He starts tearing up.

It's then that a different part of him, that part that feels sympathetic, starts bubbling back to the surface, and suddenly he's that same kid again with blood on his hands and a knife plunged into his old friend's chest in an assisted suicide.

He shakes, wracking his mind for answers that never come, searching for the rhyme or reason for all this happening.

"He was a monster," someone whispers.

"He knew they wouldn't fire at him, the sick fuck," comes another but from a deputy.

"I can't believe he said that about Kayla. And in front of Calvary, no less!"

"If ya' ask me, he won't survive the night."

"I don't think anyone in their right mind would fight 'im, knowin' what he'd done in there. Cracked that table in two, they'd said. Man's more beast than anythin' else."

It clicks in him then. Marcus never acts on aggression or sadism. He's calm and collected, and had always said that he'd accept the charges if they'd ever found him out. Because he'd come to accept that who he is deserves to be put away forever.

He said he'd go quiet all those years ago. So something's changed… and that's Marshal.

His father is taking the blame… all of it. He's acted in a way that points all that frustration from all those years ago, and all the fear Marshal has revitalized from his week of murder, all so no one would ask about him.

He's the one who wanted to become Carrion, to surrender to his urges like his father had, and now his father is paying the price. It kills him inside.

Audrey takes his hand then, squeezing tightly as she buries her head in his chest.

"C'mon, let's go home," she whispers weakly, afraid for him like she always is. "You shouldn't have to see this."

He follows her wordlessly.

The lights vanish in the distance.

Her warmth is welcoming.

But it does not kill the ache.

**~o~~~~o~**

The city lights of Zootopia, neon and glaring, iridescent in the distance like some offshoot fantasy that is too surreal to be real, and yet it's there, a monument of industry that boasts equality in structure and residence.

But to him it's just a platter of various victims waiting to happen. A cluster of unsuspecting sacks of meat, who are as diverse in their screams as they are in species.

And it sends a tingle down Marshal's spine, a wanton desire to claim it as his hunting grounds alighting in his wide eyes, burning the neon into his irises as a chuckle bursts from his lips, light and quiet but filled with some grave augury of his intentions.

How grand would it feel to turn it into a cesspool of fear, turning his very name into a living, breathing urban legend? To become a monster the world would whisper in hushed breaths for fear that speaking it would summon him?

His grin widens.

He gets back in his van and drives down the mountain, watching the city lights cast across the horizon like the rising sun, as if welcoming him to a place where he might renew himself.

And he will make good on this second chance gifted so readily to him, and embrace the demon still thriving inside.

His fingers twitch at the wheel, eager to start his spree, already planning how he'll make his grand entrance, and whose lives he'll take.

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

_Why? Well I might have supposed I'd done fer it my pa, but I hadn't. There was that inklin' that I might have, but I'll play the honest man and admit that it was nuthin' so noble. No, I didn't do it for 'im. I did it fer me. I did it so I could try my hand at becomin' somethin' he wasn't. I wanted t' become more, to be me and let the world see it so I could tear away at the façade I'd put up all my life. And there were no more obvious the targets than the two who'd put my father in jail._

_But it wasn't fer some reprisal. I just wanted t' thank 'im fer puttin' away the one thing that was holdin' me back._

_~Marshal Hector, a confidential recording between him and an unknown party_


	22. The Natural Order of Things (pt. 1)

**Chapter 8 – The Natural Order of Things**

_To have believed – even for a second – that all had been so swiftly said and done was, perhaps, our biggest mistake. When it came to it, we'd failed to see that the patterns had changed a little too much with Carrion. And it wasn't because he was older or reinventing himself, but because there were two of them. Marshal was sloppier, made mistakes, enough to lead us to his doorstep… but never to him. Marcus made a show of himself so that all blame would be on him, while Marshal walked away as nothing more than an afterthought, easily forgotten. Well… as easily as we were willing to forget about it all, anyway._

_We aren't perfect – not even close – we make mistakes too. And this mistake let a monster walk free long enough to kill even more… And it was a difficult burden to shoulder, but it's what we signed up for. Besides, by now it feels like a lifetime ago too, as if they were the pains of different people. But learning to endure monumental failure like that? To accept that those losses were – in some way – our fault...?_

_It makes you hurt first. And it takes real willpower to make redemption your follow up._

_Otherwise, it makes you angry… Worse still is when it makes you afraid._

_~Judy and Nick respectively towards the end of their interview with Gizelle Ripple_

**~o~~~o~**

His hands run cold over his icy, freezing window as a storm passes over Zootopia, crackling thunder and lightning bursting through the air, masking the sounds of the city. And it is within this shroud of ice and azure fire that Nick cannot even lose himself in the delusion of escape, back at home and far away from that damnable town.

A passing train rattles his apartment ever so slightly, but even the familiar feel of the great engine roaring through the city – vibrating through his bare soles like they have many a night here – does nothing to aid his struggle to forget.

And neither does the drink in his other hand.

He steps back, falling almost clumsily onto the coffee table as he blinks bleary-eyed at the city of neon vanishing beneath the misting glass.

The alcohol is heavy, frightfully so, but Nick doesn't drink nearly enough to get drunk – he can't bring himself to – as thoughts of Calvary drinking himself to death still recollects the same bitter tastes. Worse still is the vivid memories of the merriment out at the swamp with the Hunting Club, staring Marcus Hector in the face from across the campfire as they sang songs, and thinking briefly of how he'd try to save the town for people like them…

He clutches his head. He'd considered Marcus a friend, a man who genuinely wanted to help them get through the tough time he knew they were going to go through. And the idea that his hospitality might have taken a sadistic quality is not just disturbing… it's jarring. Cause it still doesn't make sense to him. The Carrion they'd pieced together is a relenting man, haunted by his pain, but that's based off the idea that the first murders stopped out of some self-restraint, returning the town to normalcy because he'd perpetuated his own pain by turning his anguish on the town and regretting that.

But the blood writing on the ceilings from him were warnings, reminding the town's very pillars that they were failing, leaving their own people vulnerable to him. And though it was sadistic, it carried a message that put them back on track.

In his own way, he'd helped.

Not only that but the way he'd approached Sam in the woods… Clearly sinister, yes, and rather sadistic, given the messages but… he'd given her far more urgency, pushed her further into the canals with fear, just so she can get to them and Ross quicker. He didn't need to expose himself either, but somehow he also let her know that he wasn't going to stop her, and that she'd come for them with desperate abandon. He wasn't really there to threaten her, he went under the guise of it as an excuse to push her without sacrificing his persona.

And they'd come to the conclusion that Carrion was just that. He'd been a mask, crafted to be sadistic just to set people off. Cause no one would match the description if there's no one who's anything like that.

He racks his brain for the reason, one he can't find. Marcus is Carrion, certainly, too many of his qualities match, but why he'd acted out of character… he doesn't know. And it almost  _hurts_ to not know.

A soft clicking in the kitchen tells him that Judy's done in there, walking out through his living room and brushing a hand over his back as she passes him by, hand slipping to his wrist as she tugs him up and off the table.

Her hands are still wet from the washing, and she swears she can still faintly smell his cooking oil mishap off his shirt. Normally they'd take turns doing things, and would talk animatedly together as they judged the other's every mistake and mishap, but they're content with doing them separately and without comment for now. Words fail them, even as he slips his wrist out of her hand to join their fingers.

She stops when they enter his bedroom, standing by the mattress, motionless for a minute. She then turns in his direction.

He looks down at her as she stares blankly at his chest, but he knows her vacant expression is only a mask.

Her heart is pounding, rhythmic and heavy, as whatever torments haunting her still active mind brew menacingly behind short breaths and darting eyes. She wishes she could speak, find words to perhaps comfort him and, consequently, herself.

But what could you tell someone who shares in your sorrows? What could you tell them that you could not tell yourself?

Ultimately, all she can do is wallow in her self-pity, and let him wallow with her. And at least the world doesn't have to see them this way.

She tugs at his hand instead, falling into bed as he crawls in after her as he takes off his shirt.

They lie there, her hands clutching the tuft of his chest and his hands pulling into him as he cradles her.

All they feel is the ever-present warmth as they drift to sleep, clinging desperately to it, as if it would save them from themselves. But in the very least, their dreams are not nightmares, and their world is still theirs in this dingy apartment so detached from it all, that it might as well be in another world.

But no matter where they are, their instincts still kick in, and Bronc Town's still lingering curse keeps them cautious at night. And with his pistol on the nightstand and her rifle beneath the bed, they wonder if they'll ever sleep comfortably again.

**~o~~~~o~**

When Sam receives a call from the station about a noise complaint at some random bar, she sighs in aggravation about what is essentially "unnecessary bullshit" that a few rookies could handle. But when she finds out that Bogo is specifically requesting for her on the scene, she almost gets excited. That is until she realizes that it likely isn't an excuse for a social call during a mundane case.

Her fears are confirmed when she drives up the aforementioned bar, spaces filled with flashing blue and red lights beneath the neon pink and orange sign of the "Wayward Pitstop". She pushes passed the haze of color to stand by her old partner who stares at the building with a frightful grimace, pale enough to accent the grit in his thick bovine features.

The want of some normalcy hopes that he notices her civilian attire so he can spare some witty banter about how she shouldn't be inside the perimeter line.

"How bad is it?" she asks, not even bothering to greet him as she stands wearily at his side.

His laugh is bitter, old, twinged with the haze of his gruff, dry throat. "Well, it's not actually a noise complaint, I can tell you that."

She'd been expecting as much. She crosses her arms beneath her breasts, a sigh rumbling from her chest, shivering in the icy cold of the night. Her head shakes, golden furs burning in the light to frame her dread. "Then why aren't we in there yet?" Sam makes for the door, but he takes her by the arm.

"It's barred on the other end," he says, his pointed gaze warning her unnecessarily of what's inside. She already knows it's terrible in there. She just wants to get this over and done with. "The only way in is through the back," he continues, eyes drifting off as words barely make it out of his throat.

Bogo isn't usually so bothered by terrible crime scenes, so what sets this apart?

"Bo, what's in there?"

He lets go of her, lips flattening in a hard line, eyes haunted. "Murders… You should just see it for yourself." He walks up and leans on the wall. "There's barely anyone here. Not a lot of people who can stomach what's inside so I called up our veterans to handle it with care."

She looks around then, realizing that the cars are empty and the perimeter tape is haphazardly strewn together. "Is everyone inside?" she asks.

"Just two of them. The other four are at the diner across the street… they're getting their bearings." He doesn't say that they're likely upchucking into toilets, but Sam is already taking that guess anyway.

Her fingers reach for his, gently taking them in a featherlight touch that goes nowhere but almost dares to. It embarrasses her, but since the Carrion case closing just last week, she can feel herself preparing to be mortified. She needs strength, the kind he always used to offer, but is nowhere to be seen here. "When you get enough cops to watch the perimeter, join me inside. I still trust your hands with a crime scene more than any vet."

His hand takes hers, forceful and stoic still, even as his eyes look away. But determination draws hard along his thickset jaw. "Sometimes… sometimes it feels like it isn't over. Like the world is conspiring to perpetuate that lifetime in the Broncs. From the scents in the air, to the faces that are too eerily similar. I feel like I'm on the verge of walking back into that town. I feel like every morning when I wake up, I'll walk through my own front door only to find that it was never really over and I'm back there, chasing him."

Her eyes tell of some semblance of that bygone era, youth and grit pouring out of a tiny smile that creases her lips, reminiscent of their first days as friends. Suddenly she is the light in the dark, pulling herself into him as she rests her forehead against his. "You reading my mind there, Big Guy?" she whispers, a quiet laugh under her breath. "That's a breach of privacy. I should have you arrested."

He can't bring himself to stay sad, the sorrow draining from him. "Sara…"

Her smile vanishes, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck. "Don't be so formal with me, Bo." A hand reaches up to grasp his shoulder, anchoring her to him as she lets her legs loosen, becoming weightless as she falls into his arms. "When this is over, come to my place. We'll have coffee."

He chuckles. "It's a little late for coffee, Sara."

"Who said I was actually talking about coffee," she whispers, but there's no hint of flirtation in her voice. When she pulls away, he realizes that it sounds more like she's confessed something deep-seeded, hard dug into her heart, once trapped in the confines of her insecurities, now laid out in the open. And her barely confident expression, that is just a little desperate, meets his.

She's afraid.

He smiles. "I'd love to."

Her eyes light up, claiming some victory she has too much pride to let out in the open just yet. But before she can get embarrassed, she lets go and makes to go off. "Get back to work, officer. I'll see you in my office when this is over." She tries to sound stern, maybe even a little flirtatious, but all she manages to show is that she's happy.

In the very least they'll have something to look forward to.

She feels some uncontrollable elation bubble from her core as she rounds the corner, but it vanishes the minute she sees a buck in a clean suit lying beside the back entrance.

His hands are bloody, eyes distant, haunted, as he shakes his head to ward off demons and baleful thoughts.

She deigns to speak to him but when he looks up to regard her, all he relays is a grimace. She pushes passed him and eyes through the open door.

She stifles a gasp.

The long hallway down the bar's back is covered in blood splattered against the walls in the dim lighting so much that it almost looks like it's painted over it. An amalgam of bodies decorates it with the same strokes like marionettes, still and lifeless. She steps over them, looking down at their frozen, terrified faces.

She shakes her head slowly in horror. "What the fuck is this?"

"A huge fucking mess, that's what," a doe in the next room murmurs, flashing her camera over the bodies to profile the scene. She turns to Sam as she enters the bar, finding more of them all over the place.

Many are simply scattered about the floor and tables, but some are still seated with their arms covering their faces, looking as if drunk. A giraffe sits sideways on a counter, hands once clutching his sliced neck – a cut that is almost deep enough to sever it entirely – now limp at his side, terror filling his last moments. The bartender is bent over the counter, a switchblade buried in his eye socket next to five full glasses, one soiled in his blood.

And on the far end of the room, a piano sits, untouched by the gore, save for the benches leg which was clutched feebly by an armadillo, whose neck has been plunged through and through by something.

Sam tries not to meet their faces, instead walking to the center with the doe, scanning over the area to get a read on the situation.

There's bruising on some of the faces, knocked about teeth, some scattered along the floor. "Bar fight."

"What?" the doe remarks, eying her with disbelief. No way this whole thing is the result of a stupid little brawl!

"It started with a bar fight," Sam replies. "A distraction, really. Needed to quell the numbers, either by taking them out quietly or pitting them against each other."

The larger, stronger, mammals are at the bottom of the piles, surely the first to die. "Whoever did this took out the biggest threats in the confusion, bartender included."

She looks over the faces propped up against the walls, others amassing at the front door. "By the time they realized what was happening, the rest of them were either too afraid to fight back or weren't strong enough to take the killer on." She stands over the frail, broken body of a capybara, her neck wide open from a blade. "Not that some of them didn't try anyway."

The doe looks painfully over the scene. Somehow clarity of the mess only makes it harder to look at. "I need air…"

The officer shuts the door behind her, and suddenly Sam is all alone with the ghosts of the bar. Something clicks into the speakers, a whirring static that signals that they're coming to life.

Suddenly the room is filled with an energetic piano piece, blaring through the madness in the room in an almost chaotic rhythm. It infuriates her.

"Turn that shit down!" she shouts to whomever officer might be in there… but then she realizes that Bogo had only managed to get two officers to stay here and she's already met them. So whoever turned on the music is either a survivor… or the culprit.

She isn't going to do this without some backup on the way, so she slams a fist against the barred front door, shouting passed the music to Bogo. "Bo, get your ass in here!"

She _could_  wait for him but she can't waste time.

Her eyes dart about for another room to search in, but instead she finds another hallway passed the bar where the stairs and restrooms are. She thinks to check the restrooms but suddenly she hears the sound of a door slamming open upstairs.

She growls, gritting her teeth as she bolts upwards, and on her way up, she finds a young bear not old enough to be big, and he's covered in blood. His eyes widen at the sight of her and the hard lines creasing her brow.

Then he turns tail and runs back up.

"Get back here!" she roars, running up the stairs and across the hallway after him.

He slams against the window at the end of the hall before peering down. He decides not to make the jump and instead shifts into an adjacent room.

Sam is close by, entering the room almost immediately afterwards. When she enters, she sees him cowering at the end of the room, a shadeless lamp in his hand, hoisted up as a weapon. He's shaking and he can't hold his weapon very well. "Don't kill me,  _please._ "

Her eyes widen, her features soften, and she quickly remembers that she isn't in uniform. "Woah, kid, calm down." She pulls up her badge for him. "ZPD. I'm here to help."

He relaxes, collapsing onto the floor with relief. "Oh, thank God…"

But wait… he thought she was the killer just then, didn't he? _But he couldn't have been the one to activate the speakers. They were timed too well. Someone else must have triggered it._

Now that she thinks about it, the bear exposing himself seemed almost as timely. Meaning…  _he's a decoy!_

She sprints out of the room, seeing the slightly ajar door down the hall by the stairs. Likely where he might have emerged from. She approaches with little caution, opening the door with claws ready, only to find that it's the surveillance room. It's bloody, but empty, save for another body slumping against the panel.

The streak of blood indicates that the corpse has been moved. It reveals a mouse and the side of a keyboard, and as she looks onto the nearest monitor, she can see that a music track playing, entitled "REC1".

_A recording?_

She doesn't have time to figure it out, electing to run down the stairs and out into the mainstay of the bar where she finds Bogo stepping in. "Sam, what on earth is-"

A window shatters!

They run down the hallway and out back where the two other officers are tending to the bear from earlier. He's groaning as he rolls on the floor from back pain. "Someone… ngh… pushed me out," he says.

Sam and Bogo look up to see the window has shattered.

They rush back in, only to find that the front door's bar has been pulled out, and some of the bodies pushed aside.

Out the door, they find nothing but the cool breeze of the deepening night, kissing the edges of their fringed furs that dance amongst their growing chills. Another elusive killer is on the loose, but they'll catch him too. They're confident they will. Even when help arrives and the station's already got officers on the road trying to look for someone suspicious and yet still find no one on an empty description, hope is still high.

But it's all too eerily familiar and Sam curses under her breath at the thought, Bogo milling plans silently beside her.

And with a whine and a moan, they consider that "coffee" is exactly what they need tonight.

**~o~~~~o~**

"I'm still sort of getting used to being back. A new apartment doesn't make the transition any easier, really," Judy tells her parents over the phone, the sound of her friends helping her move rumbling in the background.

"Just give it time, hun, you'll be fine," her mother replies, occupying the whole screen on her phone. Her gaze darts about, looking for someone before shrugging and sitting at a table in the kitchen. "When's your next visit, by the way?"

Judy grins sheepishly before sighing dejectedly. "I'm still trying to put together enough vacation time to visit." Her free arm cradles her own waist, her frown glowing in the sunlight in some strange contrast. "Crossing the state to see you guys is going to take some time and I want an extended visit… I haven't been with family for a while and the case has made it feel like I've been away for years…"

"Well it's a good thing we'll be visiting you ourselves soon," Bonnie shrugs.

Judy only makes an affirmative noise, but her downtrodden gaze tells Bonnie she wants to see them at home, to return to the familiar simplicity of life in the Burrows. Judy also wants to get out of the city and away from work, but she doesn't communicate that, but her mother does fetch an intelligent guess at it.

The wrinkles around Bonnie's eyes seem sage-like with her quiet little smile. Her daughter's worrying too much about neglecting her family, who have never stopped feeling her love. So she shakes her head, thinking it silly.

Then she gets an idea, one that earns a tender laugh from the mature bunny. "Judy, why don't you call up Julian?"

Judy blinks at her mother. "Julian?" She pause for a moment to instruct Fengmeyer to place her dresser by the vanity. "I don't think he'd answer, Mom."

"He hasn't been as busy these past few months. Trust me, he'll pick up this time." Bonnie looks off-screen for a moment, squinting at something from across the room. "Sorry to cut this short, hun, but I've got to go. Janet's multi-tasking again and I think she's just about to ruin her wedding dress if she doesn't slow down."

Judy blinks rapidly, brain firing on the information. "W-wedding dress? My sister's getting married!?"

"Oh, dear, Judy, you really are behind. Yes, she's getting married." Suddenly, Bonnie turns a little pale as she slowly makes her way across the room. "O-oh, Janet! Janey, watch what you're doing!" She shakes her head. "She isn't hearing me."

A tall hare comes into the corner of the screen, asking about something on a clipboard. "The white one, yes." Bonnie nods to the man before fixing her gaze across the room again.

Judy is frightfully and understandably confused, perpetuating as some shouting pours out of her phone, drawing some curious looks from her friends as they peek into the room she's in to see what's going on. She offers them an apologetic smile before her mother raises her voice again. "Gideon! The wedding's next month, you're allowed to look at her. Gideon? Gideon!  _Drop the superstition and open your eyes!_ " Then comes the sound of shattering glass, Bonnie wincing at the sight of the incident, before she adopts a surprised yet bemused smile. "Oh, well, that sorted itself out."

Judy stares down at her mother quizzically. "What… what happened?"

"Janet spilled some of the wine samples over the carpet and her husband-to-be. We'll have to buy a new one, but I think the shock has calmed her down." She can hear her sister profusely apologizing to the fox, who only laughs.

It only takes a second to put the pieces together. "Janet's marrying Gideon?"

"Oh, yes, isn't it exciting? He'll be your brother-in-law next month! Julian was supposed to give you the invitation but he said you were out of town, but we figured you'd RSVP with a date anyway."

"Julian's in Zootopia?"

"Judy, honey, call him afterwards, alright? He'll fill you in on everything else, I'm sure."

They bid their goodbyes then, Judy sighing exasperatedly as she leans on her wall. She looks down at the box she was carrying before she'd gotten that call. Inside are her stuffed animals, a collection she hasn't needed to cuddle up in since she'd been using Nick for warmth.

The idea is almost saddening, really. She's going to be seeing him less, and she can't deny how quickly she'd latched onto him for comfort. Not that he isn't any different. It's clear that he's been using her as a crutch as well. But that's part of the reason why she needs to be here.

Judy hears Nick walk in before she sees him. "Who's Julian?"

"My twin brother."

He looks at her pointedly, a little astonished. "Your  _twin_ brother?"

"Yes, a twin. Given the amount of kits my family has, it really shouldn't be a surprise to you, Nick."

"It's not that. Color me shocked, Carrots, but out of all your family members, I figured having a  _twin brother_ of all things should have at least come up in conversation."

"Well… Julian's been kind of off-the-radar since I went to the Academy."

"Jealousy?"

She shakes her head. "No, no. He went to Law School and he's gotten pretty busy ever since. He wanted to fight the good fight—"

"Like you did?"

"Yeah, but he figured a diplomatic approach would have made more traction. He's even handled a few of the Night Howler court cases. I managed to get a hold of him once before I went back home but we haven't spoken much since then…" She trails off, eyes staring down at the box beneath her once more.

Nick closes the gap between them, standing beside her and taking her hand. She meets his gaze with a quiet smile, a hand falling onto his loose sleeveless shirt, matted slightly with sweat.

He pulls her out of herself, drawing her into him. "I'm going to miss you," he says with a sigh, clutching her much smaller hand in his.

"You'll see me at work." She tries to sound clever but the comedic tone fails before it even comes out of her mouth.

"You know that's not what I mean."

She sighs too, head falling to his chest as his hands fall around her. "If it's any consolation, I feel the same way." She shakes her head, pulling away as she meets eyes and doesn't leave. "But we can't keep doing this. It's a crutch, not a solution. And we can't find one if we keep clinging onto each other like this."

He takes her hand again. Then he takes the other before he rubs gentle circles over her knuckles. "I know… but I'd be lying if I didn't say I liked it more than I probably should have."

"Hmph—" she tugs his arms, giving him a coy smile, "—you just want me to crawl back into bed with you."

His lopsided gaze, honest and true, is the only answer he gives. It isn't suggestive, doesn't warrant banter, and asks only that she look at him as he is. No walls, no barriers between. No mask to hide behind. Simple, naked, vulnerable.

Again, her head falls to his chest. "What even are we, Nick?"

"I don't know. It's kind of hard to take a step back and look at it realistically."

She hums in response, hands slipping out of his hands and onto his chest once more. Here she feels safe, trapped willingly in his embrace.

 _"Kiss him,"_  she remembers Gizelle telling her once-upon-a-time.  _"Just give it a shot and see if it does anything to you."_

A hand reaches up to crane his neck.

Her toes curl as she shuts her eyes and raises her lips.

She shudders when his hands take her waist and neck, reaching down to meet her halfway.

She tastes of a delicate nectar, sweet and elusive, and he cherishes it as if it is rare and unobtainable.

He tastes of summer air, burning and passionate, and she revels in it, like it is an experience reserved only for her.

Their lips part, and the quiet snicker of their friends fleeing from the doorway leaves them bewildered and confused.

They laugh, low and soft.

"I think it's safe to say we've just made this more confusing," she says, arms crossed behind her. She's a little bothered when she finds herself unable to blush, which she'd been hoping would be her reaction.

"I'm no closer to figuring this out either," he replies, realizing that the quick thrum of his heart has almost instantly normalized. But he's happy somehow, more than he'd thought he would today. "Is this supposed to be love?"

His question is genuine, and so is her confusion.

She shrugs. "I don't think so. It actually just kind of feels…"

"Raw?" he offers.

"Yeah…" She trails off, trying to find a better word for it but doesn't.

To them love is what you make it, and they aren't sure they've made it into anything just yet. So their emotions flounder, wafting at the fringes of something great, love or otherwise. They don't know what they'll find with this, but before they can even ponder how to even try, Judy's phone rings and she remembers where she is, and that their friends have respectively averted their eyes and are now milling about in her new living room.

Nick shakes his head with a bemused smile. "I'll wait outside. Just don't forget the pizza you promised."

"Right," she answers absentmindedly as she looks his way, watching him exit through the doorway to greet Lupin who smiles snidely at them both. She needs answers to her own questions on top of everything else. But thoughts about the case, her feelings, her fear of lingering detachment from her family, all form into a fine mess, amalgamating in her head.

 _One thing at a time._ She picks up her phone, eyes widening at the name flashing off the video call.

The screen flickers before she sees a bunny stare up at her, his smile like hers, a mirror that she is almost too elated to see as a familiar glee bubbles to her cheeks. "Julian?"

The mirrored face is almost as excited to see her, the sun hitting his lavender irises, making them look wider than they actually are. And she wonders if that's how people see  _her_ in that light _._

"Haven't seen  _that_ face in a while," he says.

She rolls her eyes. "We're twins! Try the mirror."

"Close, but you don't have my jaw," he rubs the aforementioned feature with pride.

"Yeah, you aren't as cute as me, I'll admit."

"Hey, I've got roguish charm cause of this," he says as he massages the tuft on his chin that could only barely be described as a beard.

"Not with those eyes, you don't."

He shakes his head, accepting defeat as he finds no follow-up. Then he sighs as watches her laugh at him.

"So Mom tells me you're missing out on family."

"Yeah…" she replies, slumping against the wall as she slides down it. "And she tells  _me_ that you're in the city?"

"Been here for the past few months, actually."

She feigns looking offended for a moment, before her look turns pointed and askance. "And you didn't tell me?"

"I've been busy," he answers easily, which in no way surprises her. "I proposed to Lizzie by the way."

"Oh!" She manages to sound more surprised than happy for him, which she immediately regrets.

"What's with that face?" he asks.

"I actually forgot you two were dating… eheh. It's been over a year since we've so much as spoken to each other, Jules, and we hardly get the chance to talk at length, let alone about our love lives!"

He dotes with delight, his laughter recollecting memories of their childhood. A sliver of some childish reminisce returns to her, warming her heart and quelling her fears for a moment long enough to smile sheepishly at the realization that she's called him by his nickname.

Julian looks up at something then turns around, looking down at his phone with a growing smile. "Well, _Judes,_  I've been here." He pulls up the phone to show her a bustling manor standing six stories tall behind him, with wave after wave of pristine white rabbits milling about the grounds, prepping for the wedding with various tasks. " _This_  is the Harrier Estate, just outside of Zootopia so I'm still  _technically_  in the city. We've been trying to keep the construction under wraps before the big public reveal but there are already some tabloids on us."

Her eyes still blink at the glowing monument, a fortress of limestone and marble, pale pillars reaching up to cradle the balconies, intricate etchings lining the framework of every window and doorway. She isn't quite sure what he means by under construction, but if they intend to add more, it might actually seem a little excessive. "And you've been  _living_  there?"

"Ever since she said yes." His smile could not have been wider.

One of the Harrier's Red-Eye-White rabbits approaches Julian from behind, asking who's on the phone. He tells her it's his twin sister Judy, and the girl gasps if he means _that_  Judy. The girl squees when he nods.

Suddenly there's a procession of onlookers and Judy is suddenly uncomfortable with all the attention she's getting, but bearing with it.

It isn't long until Julian aims the camera to the side once more, calling for everyone to say hi to her. Her meek, embarrassed reply, is then apparently broadcasted quite clearly with Julian's phone at max volume, coupled with their attentive silence.

When it's over, he walks off and laughs. "I think they like you."

"Cause I'm your sister or cause I'm a celebrity?"

"Either? Both? I don't think it really matters, Judy."

She laughs again — more to quell the burning in her cheeks — forgetting her world for a moment. "So… do I get an invitation?"

"I was hoping to hand it to you in person, actually. At lunch. Tomorrow… _Here._ "

She's caught off-guard again. "So soon?"

"You aren't busy, are you?"

"I'm not but… you can't just spring something like that on a busy girl, Jules. I'm not sure I can take many more surprises." But she hopes he keeps them coming. The distraction is doing wonders for her.

He shrugs. "Seemed to work on my fiancé just fine."

"Right, well, do I get to meet the bride-to-be too?"

"I'm sure we can have it arranged. I'll send someone to pick you up at the station by noon tomorrow, alright?" He leans in, grinning cheekily. "Maybe even bring that fox of yours."

"Um… kind of a bad time for that, actually."

"Oh," he retracts immediately, trying to look apologetic but only manages to wince. "I'm sorry. You two break up or something?"

She rolls her eyes with a laugh. "We're not dating, Julian."

He manages to win back his snarky attitude in time. "Oof!  _Formality._  Hit a nerve, did I?"

"Not even close." She frowns then, leaning over the doorframe to spy the fox in question laughing it up at the sofa with the rest of them. "It's nothing like that. We haven't even been dating. But lately we've gotten a little…  _codependent._ " She shakes her head. "But it isn't like you'll never get the chance to see him. Just that, right now, I need to learn to pick myself up off the ground without having to lean on him all the time."

"Sounds like the ZPD'S power couple has taken a break. Shall I alert the presses?"

She is not impressed. "Julian…"

" _Judy,_ " is his only retort. "You can't stop free press. Besides, the tabloids are already abuzz with the news that you two have been sleeping in the same apartment. I've even saved a few copies of them on my phone for future blackmail."

"What? How?" That doesn't make sense. They'd been careful not to draw too much mention. Surely they've managed to keep hidden… right?

"You might wanna ask that leopard friend of yours."

Judy's gaze turns sharp as she storms into the living room, drawing the attention of all present with a terrifying glare that seems to make her look larger than she is. And no one shrinks further than the leopard in question.

" **Clawhauser**!"

**~o~~~~o~**

Nick approaches the shooting range wielding his weapon like a heavy cross. It is burdensome, onerous, a token of some magnanimous task. He hefts it slowly, feeling the weight of the pistol over his wrists, never trembling like it once did.

And when he fires, its lush ebony frame alights, the polymer gleaming like embers on coal.

He neglects to wear earmuffs, allowing every shot to ring in his ears – a rhythmic echo like a deadly symphony, striking the air like lightning, the sharp crescendo of noise rising until it resembles shellshock.

It closes his mind from sordid memories still afresh, quieting the sound of his heart that thrums like an errant war drum. But when he stares down the iron sights – spying the distant target across from him – it recollects memories in his mind, conjuring the image of Marcus hunching over Judy, strangling her.

It doesn't make him hesitate.

He pulls the trigger and the bullet flies true.

It lands square in the torso.

He'd been aiming for the head.

The sigh that billows from his throat is deep seeded and poisoned. He casts off his ballistic goggles as the target comes in, and he eyes it with disdain, clenching his fists at his own slow progress.  _This isn't good enough._

"At least all of them hit the target this time," he says quietly in a feeble attempt to comfort himself. But his hands fall to the table, groaning in frustration.

"I'll admit, you're a fast learner," Lupin says from behind. "But I doubt you'll make marksman in a week. Don't stress yourself too much about it, yeah?"

Nick leans against the wall as Lupin takes a spot by the table. He expects Nick to reply but the fox stays silent as he eyes the paper before him.

Lupin takes the pistol instead, hefting it in his hand. "Huh, this thing is a little heavier than it should be…"

Nick raises a brow at him. "I could do without the metaphors," he says, deadpanning.

"That wasn't a metaphor," Lupin replies, furrowing Nick's brow with curiosity.

He hoists the weapon up and down, feeling the frame and its materials. "It's like there's a lot of unnecessary materials in it. Metal lining, I'm guessing." He chuckles. "Hell, you don't even have to shoot this thing to kill a guy. A good toss will knock a guy out with all this weight."

Nick takes it back, mimicking the motion with his hand. "Huh, I never noticed. I just thought they were always like this." He busies himself with it, but isn't really paying attention.

Lupin's lip tilts at the sight, spotting clearly Nick's elsewhere mind. His heart is heavy here, not quite sure what he can even do, but decides not to think too hard about it. His smile is soft, a thin line that warns that he is very sorry for bringing this up but isn't sorry for trying. "I know you're not too open about your personal demons but… as your  _friend,_  I ought to ask." He shrugs almost sheepishly, and it's so unlike him that Nick manages a snicker at his expense.

Nick mirrors him, the smile frail, glass-like, but he sighs in surrender. Nick has no intention of really keeping this to himself, at least not from his friends. And though the ache in his heart grows only deeper, sharper, he cannot help but let the wound show.

"You read the report, right?"

"Top to bottom." He shrugs. "Twice."

A ghost of a chuckle lingers on Nick's lips but it passes. The brief moment of catharsis vanishes as Nick stares down the contours of his weapon in his hand. It is custom made to fit him perfectly, and to his horror, it does.

"You remember Judy's account of how I shot Marcus?"

"Yeah. Across the back, non-lethal. 'Just to distract him,' she said. Then you followed up with a tackle."

"I missed," Nick says with a dark chuckle, eyes locked to the floor with the memory still vividly before him, groping weakly at the weapon he feels is cursed to feel natural in his grasp. Then he meets Lupin's eyes, a hard line across his brow, some hate lingering there. "I was aiming for the head," he says in a baleful whisper just loud enough to hear.

The wolf is taken aback, milling the alien thought in his head. He's never known Nick to be much for violence. But to desire to kill someone takes it to another level entirely.

His arms unfurl slowly, approaching Nick with a cautious hand that lands on the fox's arm. "Nick, this isn't like you," he warns.

He grits his teeth, huffing through his nostrils, clenching ever tighter over his gun. "I can't miss again, Lupe."

"And you can't let this change you either," he says calmly, stilling his own fear mustering through his churning gut. He needs to make him see reason. "I understand wanting to protect your partner but you can't surrender everything that you are just because you're afraid of losing her."

"Then where do I draw the line then? When it's too late? When she's  _dead_?"

"But she's not! She's alive, Nick. You don't need to beat yourself up for something that _didn't_  happen."

Nick's frustrations boils ever further, almost slamming the weapon onto the table. "But any number of factors could have changed that! I need to minimize those chances. I need to make them  _impossible._ "

Lupin's returning glare is pointed but measured. Fear is ruling Nick, he knows, and it's doing dangerous things to his psyche.

"You both swore to take those chances when you took the oath," Lupin says, tempering himself. "It's something we all have to live with in this line of work, and it's not like you can pull her away from her dream job just for you."

Nick gives him an even look. "Can't I?"

Lupin's expression is incredulous, almost mortified. He knows the case messed them up but he finds himself appalled at the sight of what it has done to Nick.

He stares at Nick, hoping that his deadpan cracks into an inappropriate cackle for a terrible and ill-timed joke, but it never does, and so Lupin's heart sinks. "You're serious…?"

Frustration coils at the wolf's core, fists trembling with everything he's barely even able to hold back. "This isn't even about  _her_  anymore, is it? You're just afraid you'll end up alone. I'd hate to call you selfish but,  _Nick,_  there's no breathing room in that relationship!"

"There won't even be one if I fail! That bullet could have very well missed and she'd be dead!" Nick buries his hands in his head of fur, clutching his scalp as his eyes press against his open palms to stifle tears as he whispers, "the fact that it landed at all was a stroke of luck… And it will haunt me  _every. day._  that we might not be so lucky next time."

 _We_  is the keyword, Lupin finds. Cause either one of them could be the receiving end of that bad luck. And Lupin realizes that he doesn't know Judy enough to tell if she'd be any better at dealing with that idea if she'd ever be in his shoes.

Does she even know that this is killing him? Does she even know Nick's saving shot actually missed its intended mark? He wonders and wonders, but when he looks at Nick who turns to the table and preps another target with an expression broken by the vivid anguish that ages his features for a moment, Lupin considers that perhaps Nick is not alone in this.

Surely Judy is suffering in her own way but even though he has no way of knowing, he knows for sure that she'd sacrifice for him if she'd been in his shoes.

Shots resonate through the room again, Nick's suffering pouring through every ripple across his burdened frame, lowering his hands as the magazine empties but his fingers twitch still at the trigger.

Lupin clenches his fists, mustering the courage to speak, to dare try once more to break him out of his stupor. He knows likely nothing will come of it, but as a friend, he ought to try.

"I can only imagine what you felt when you thought you might have lost her to Ross." His voice is a whisper, the only sound Nick hears outside of his beating heart thrumming painfully in his chest. "I may know loss myself but not like that. To know that panic, that… _dread?_  To carry with you the knowledge that there's still a chance to save her, running even when every limb screams for you to stop… Thinking that every moment might be her last. That if you just…  _hurry,_  you could maybe make it. I don't know how that feels but…  _she_ might."

Nick shakes his head, eyes forward and away from Lupin. "She doesn't know…"

"Keep this up and she  _will._ "

He glances back at the wolf, confusion on his face, maybe terror.

"What you have is a two-way partnership," Lupin continues, "and the more you give up for her, the more she'll give up for you. It's a cycle that won't end unless one of you stops, but you're both stubborn to a fault, so you'll keep ripping pieces out of yourselves until there's nothing left."

Lupin may not know Judy, but she's like Nick in enough ways to know what might come of their relationship if Nick continues on this way. They mean too much to each other, have made themselves too vital in their lives to slow down for their own sakes. It might even be a good thing, but with this?

"Temper yourself, Nick," Lupin continues, a solemn hand on his friend's shoulder for only a moment before leaving. "Don't make her terrified of the same things… cause it'll only end in disaster. Brave those fears until you're strong enough to brave them  _with_  her, instead of  _for_ her. We don't want to have to lose you both."

Lupin walks away then, his footfalls reverberating through the length of the shooting range.

Only then does Nick realize the room is empty.

That the city outside the windows has plunged into the night.

And that the gun in his hand has been loaded once more.

**~o~~~~o~**

To keep her visit to the Harrier estate as incognito as possible, Judy decides to try out a disguise, a hoody over her sleeveless black blouse, but she realizes that her navy blue capris are an obvious sign that she's hiding a matching outfit underneath. She mulls over the idea, and considers that maybe she's just overthinking it.

She considers trying a different outfit. She pulls her blouse halfway off before Nick meanders into their office with a small backpack hanging off his hand.

He doesn't even seem to realize that he'd nearly caught her undressing. "Couldn't do this in the lockers, Carrots?" he asks nonchalantly as he slides into his chair.

She realizes that she'd been more shocked than embarrassed, which is apparently not at all. Cause the flush to her cheeks never comes. Besides, it isn't like they didn't bathe together back in Bronc Town. "Couldn't have people asking questions. I don't have all the faculties to come up with an excuse."

Nick shrugs. "Could've just said you were going on a date."

"Can't," she replies quickly. "Wouldn't want the rumor mill thinking I've moved on. That's an entirely different can of worms I'm not willing to open. Besides, Ben would have a fit if he ever thought I was trying to date someone else."

"Is this your way of asking me out?" Nick waggles his brow suggestively.

"Shouldn't the guy be doing that?"

"I like to think you're above the stereotype, Carrots."

She rolls her eyes at him before returning to the matter at hand, and she puffs her cheeks at the idea that she still doesn't really have a way to hide her outfit. That is until Nick tosses her shawl at her.

She pulls it off, blinking at the now fresh fabric before looking back at Nick who is reaching into the backpack he'd brought in.

"These are the last of your clothes from the wash," he says as he pulls out a stack of blouses, skirts, and jeans, topped off with a tiny plastic bag of unmentionables.

She hums happily as she places the shawl over herself, covering enough of her without having to look suspicious. For a shawl meant for a mammal Sam's size, it manages to suit her rather well. She's about ready to leave, thinking for a moment about thanking Nick, but before she can decide on what to say, he speaks.

"How have your patrols been?" His voice is just the tiniest bit glum.

"Lonely." Hers is no different but she makes even less effort to hide her melancholy. "Yours?" Her voice wanes in some semblance of optimism, but it's feeble, dry.

He catches it quick and manages a smile for her as he pulls up the meter maid vest, glistening a comical orange with an even brighter yellow. "Less than perfect," he drawls sarcastically as she giggles. "I'm guessing the rookie under your wing isn't worth mentioning?"

She sighs with a lopsided smile. "She's smart enough to know I'm going through something and doesn't ask questions. I'm sure she's a great girl, but… I'm not in the right mind to make any new friends." She regards him once more, terrified of her own emotions that might tug her back in his direction, unsure of her own strength without him. "Nick, I don't like being in that car without you."

His emotions flare inside, burning at his core as he stares at her with a dismal, half-lidded gaze. He tries not to show how much he misses being around her all the time. But other demons come to the surface, acutely aware that his pistol is still tightly fastened to his hip.

He wants to tell her about it, to share his fears and the ghastly thing haunting his itchy trigger finger, but he can't. He'll just end up leaning on her again, and all too quickly does he feel like taking a step back for both their sakes. And yet the gap between them feels like it'll become a chasm if he doesn't go and reach out for her. And even still he holds back. "I wish we were a little easier to figure out," he says instead. "I wish everything in that town never happened. I wish I hadn't gone crazy… But I don't wish I didn't need you as much as I did."

His eyes as desperate, fearful of what she thinks of him. "I know it isn't right," he continues, "I know I need to face my fears about this case and not ignore it by hiding under the covers with you but…"

She takes a step closer, a hand falling on her desk opposite his. "But…?" Her voice comes with a quiver, a blush finally blooming in her cheeks.

His eyes are dour, steely, speaking with a fervor he almost thought he lost. "I love you. I don't know what that really means yet but… I know it means a lot."

"Hm," she intones in almost a giggle. "I love you too, cliché as that sounds. I know whatever the town's done to us has made what we have difficult to read, now that we're where we are but, I do know something for sure."

"What is it?"

"We fit… even if this is nothing more than endearment, I can safely say that we—"

"Fit," he repeats, heart suddenly alight.

She walks to the door, looking back at her fox.  _Her_ fox. "I'll see you later, Nick."

He nods, but he speaks before she shuts the door. "Hey, you watch yourself out there, alright?"

She rolls her eyes, glad things aren't tense. "Nick, I'm pretty sure the Harriers aren't as creepy as you think they are."

Nick crosses his arms, shaking his head. "I'll take that into consideration when your word becomes firsthand and not guesswork." And with that, she's out the door, but Nick – now alone with his thoughts – considers something. His mind is abuzz of Judy, hoping against hope that what this isa isn't his desperate need for comfort that has him clinging to her so willingly.

But he wants to try something.

He pulls out his phone, and hits a speed dial. "Hey, Dad, do you still have that— Right, sorry… I was wondering if you still had— Yeah, the…  _rock…_ Mind if I see you during your lunch break? I need to think something over and I might want to have that back for now…"

Meanwhile, Judy stands outside the station, the wide open space from the door to the end of the sidewalk giving her ample time to feel out her outfit just to see if it doesn't stand out too much. Luckily, she only gets passing glances from other officers, and only a particular passing hare only really stares at her but only for a minute longer than most before he's bapped backside of the head by his girlfriend.

Then a gleaming red muscle car, a Highway Aries, pulls up in front of her. The backseat opens and a pale white rabbit with red eyes brighter than they have any reason to be pops her head out to look at her. Her sunhat shrouds her face from any onlookers that isn't Judy, and she smiles beatifically at her, the tiny crest to her lips almost demure in the pleasant little blush to her.

"I suppose those gorgeous eyes really do run in the family," the woman says, leaning back gracefully in her seat, her tiny laugh just as radiant and composed as her demeanor. "I suppose I have the honor of meeting Julian's sister…? Unless I'm terribly mistaken."

"Yes, that's me," Judy replies, much to the woman's relief as she lightly sets a hand to her own chest. "I'm guessing my brother sent you?"

"He didn't. He sent Callum over there," –she gestures to the driver whom she can't see through the tint– "but I simply wished to see you for myself so I tagged along." She steps down and extends a hand that Judy takes. "Elizabeth Harrier, or Hopps, as the case may be."

"Oh! You're—"

"Pleasantries inside, dear." She steps aside, letting Judy in to finally see another bunny sitting up front at the wheel, a boy no older than seventeen.

Elizabeth comes in to join her, shutting the door behind them. "Callum, meet your future aunt!"

He tips his hat back at her. "The pleasure's mine, Miss Judy," he says, voice tightly wrapped in a thick accent.

"Oh, just Judy is fine."

"Callum, shall we be off?" Elizabeth says. He nods and starts the car as Elizabeth takes Judy's hands in her own. "As for you, dear sister-to-be, I think we ought to get to know each other, wouldn't you agree?"

**~o~~~~o~**

There is a mountain just outside of the city in the north where oak trees stand so tall over the road that the canopy blankets it almost entirely. And here, in this array of lights peering through the gaps in the overhead flora, does Judy think herself rather taken by the scenery and the lush valleys sloping off the mountain's edges. It's pleasant, quiet, and somehow distinct from Bronc Town's forests of autumn-kissed pine, and even the air smells different, cleansing her little by little.

And when the tree line is breached, she marvels at the sight of the Harrier Estate but more astonished than anything else at the sheer magnitude of what a great burrow looks like on the surface. It is like a vertical city, as much of the compound hangs almost impossibly against the mountain's surface as tall white gothic structures with ornate windows are connected by shaded bridges with decorative parapets sheltering its gaps in colored glass, and colossal ivory towers winged by equally grand buttresses.

Hanging gardens, greenhouses and aviaries adorn the rooftops with a single observatory nestling at the peak of the highest structure that almost plunges into the heavens above.

But when she's inside the gates, the ground floor expands almost imperceivably into the horizons to her sides, stretching infinitely in her eyes to fill the great valley at the foot of the mountain. Gardens, houses, and wide open spaces rife with recreation dot the landscape gleefully amidst winding roads that all curve towards the estate itself.

"Quite the sight, isn't it?" Elizabeth leers, leaning out of the opposite window to see the same sights. Judy turns to see the woman eying it wistfully herself. "I'd seen it built from the ground up. Never entertained the thought of living outside of the Mildew Burrows, and yet here I am, building a home for my children."

"It's… kind of a lot to take in."

"It's far less impressive inside, ma'am," replies Callum.

Judy eyes the base of the hanging estate, the structure spanning wider than most malls she's seen, and those are built to even fit much larger mammals. "I think we have very different ideas of what that word means."

"He means it isn't too furnished," Elizabeth reasons. "We've not had much time to decorate the spaces. Three years of work but most of it has been for all the housings here. The estate proper is relatively new."

"I figured a family as large as yours would have an army of decorators at the ready for a project so big," Judy states as they pull up to the rotunda before a hedge maze that sits in front of the main entrance.

"They're all busy working on my wedding and prepping the related rooms. I'd insisted that they not pour so much effort onto my ceremony alone but family can be so stubborn, wouldn't you agree?"

"Family?" Judy blinks. "All your decorators are Harriers?"

"Extended family too, but yes, all Harriers," Callum adds. "In fact, near nothing on this property  _isn't_ made by a Harrier. All manner of woodwork, pottery, and architecture has been of our design and make. And they're all housed here too. But lately we've needed to borrow from the Burrow."

She supposes that a family so large and so rapidly expanding would manage to fit all professions, but it's still a daunting thought. She'd never imagined any family would grow so large and stay together. Most of her family's broods would often expand into the valleys, but it seems that the Harrier's sheer strength in numbers seems to stem from acclimating entire separate families together. And now she wonders if any more of her family might end up moving here.

And with a few uncles in construction work and architecture, she wonders if they already have.

The car stops and almost immediately is the door opened for them by another bunny that is just about Callum's age. Elizabeth thanks the child, patting her on the head, before the same rabbit pauses – mouth agape – at the sight of Judy coming out from behind her. She quickly composes herself but then Callum laughs at her expense, prompting her to snarl then jump into the passenger seat to get at him.

Judy doesn't know how to react to that, but Elizabeth's quiet laughter draws her attention away. "Try not to fret. They are children after all, and a few shenanigans is healthy." She then takes Judy's wrist and pulls her towards the maze. "Now come, you're here for your brother after all and I've delayed you long enough."

"Delayed?"

Again her laughter is featherlight, never shattering her character. "We took the scenic route so we could speak privately, so I'm certain Julian is a might bit peeved I've occupied you for so long. Not that he's capable of staying irate with me for long, really."

Judy would be worried about her lunch break being so long but only in the measure that Nick would be concerned. Bogo has more or less given them time off, and she considers capitalizing on that idea. Maybe if things go well, she might even stay for dinner. But then she realizes that they've wandered into the maze, and she realizes that Elizabeth has only asked about her and Judy hasn't even had the chance to ask her about herself.

"Elizabeth—" A finger is pressed to her lip.

"Hush now," she says, "I know you might be eager to know me as well, but know that that is a conversation we are due in time." She pulls the finger away, setting her hand to her chest. "I will not do you the disservice of failing that promise, but I cannot become a point of your concern today. Time here is precious, you see, and while I would love for you to acclimate yourself with me, I am sorry to say that I would only tarnish that dialogue by ending it abruptly."

Judy's first thought is that it might be something grim, and so she clutches her arm. "What do you mean?"

Then Elizabeth's phone rings, which confuses Judy because there is no discernible pocket in that dress, but then she removes her sunhat, revealing her phone balanced on her scalp. She takes it and reads the message, huffing. She gives Judy a sad smile, some of her poise vanishing in her wilting posture. "I've little time in the day for myself. Normally I'd spend this time with Julian, but I've always wanted to meet you, the woman who'd come to raise him," – she clutches her sunhat – "molded him piece by piece into the man I'd come to love. And I yet still have many questions, more of you I'd like to glimpse outside of tabloids, and interviews. To know his family like an affianced sh—" Her phone rings again, stilling her lips before she sighs in defeat. "I love Julian but he has a grand family of his own that I have yet to meet. So before I can call myself part of your kin, I would like to have earned it first." Then her eyes turn solemn, standing straight once more as she grips her items. "So, before the wedding, would you do me the honor of allowing us to meet properly? The two of us."

Judy realizes that she fears being disliked by Julian's family. And having never met any of them, it's likely she could have ultimately conjured every fear about a family she's never met. How Julian managed to never introduce her to another Hopps is beyond her, but that is beside the point.

She's the bride, and she's thus been occupied with this wedding, and it's slowly dawned on her that she is meant to be part of another family she knows nothing about.

She thinks then of Nick, and what his elusive family is like. She's never met them, not even a glimpse, cause as far as she knows, he could very well have been adopted! She feels that she doesn't know as much as she should about her partner, and she fears for what that means for them both, and what that reflects onto Elizabeth.

But a fear like that can be solved, a history told. And even though Elizabeth's phone rings again, Judy stays the nervous wife's hand and shakes her head with a smile. "You've nothing to fear from me. I'd love to meet you for real, but I'd like it if we maybe started… today." Her offer is heartfelt, beaming with as much warmth as she can muster. She knows that perhaps the woman might not have any choice, but chances that she might convince her to try for her own sake at least. "I know what it's like to be afraid about your future with someone. It's another conversation we can share if you have the time."

Elizabeth is indecisive, furthered by the fourth message on her phone already, but Judy waits patiently with a genuine smile. "I'm… not sure I do. Or rather, that I perhaps shouldn't…"

Her phone rings again.

"That's about the wedding, right?"

She nods. "They want my opinion on the flower arrangements. Then I need to try another array of gowns and…" Another ring, but this time it's a call that fills the air. She looks to Judy for answers.

Judy shrugs. "You're the bride aren't you? You own the show and call the shots. I say you should get to decide when you take a break and spend some time with me and your husband-to-be."

She almost doesn't give in to Judy as the phone continues to ring. Judy's hand is on hers but it doesn't hinder her moving to maybe answer the call, she even lets go, not putting up any resistance. She looks up to meet Judy's eyes again, but they're encouraging, allowing her to take control of the situation, beckoning her to take charge. And so, with some resolve, she breathes a sigh of relief and shuts off her phone.

"I'll admit, you are rather difficult to deny."

Judy shrugs again. "I had a good teacher."

The maze isn't difficult to navigate. It's far too simplistic to legitimately get lost in, but it appears to serve its purpose well.

Elizabeth explains that it's meant to hide something at the center, as the path to it is the only thing complicated about the maze. And she takes her through that very path which at some point leads to an underarching staircase beneath the maze out towards a wide enclosed area decorated by clumps of varying flowers and various outdoor furniture.

And in there, Julian stands at the center, staring down at a simple, blank grave. He turns to them with a smile. "I'd be disappointed if I didn't see this coming."

"That your fiancé would steal me or that I would be late?" Judy asks, her sneer evident.

He rolls his eyes. "Do you miss me or what?"

She rolls hers. Hopping over, she embraces her brother for a long moment before pulling away as Elizabeth takes her place at his side.

"I'm surprised to see you here," he tells his fiancé. "I had assumed you were busy by this time. Something happen?"

She looks to Judy. "She did."

A swell of pride overcomes Judy, though a touch of embarrassment might have trembled from her core, but instead she beams brightly. Here, in this moment, she feels like she is in a different world, a witness to another story. And it's strange yet cathartic, a place she can hide away in to escape her life, where she's not quite herself, where she can almost pretend she is someone else living a different life.

But the sensation is paper thin, breached by its own meager weight in a tiny droplet of sweat, laughing nervously at a joke she doesn't actually hear.

And then her world shifts back, her reality lingering at the tips of her stiff toes, remembering how numb her lower half felt when Marcus crushed her under his weight.

Now, however, she finds other things to distract herself with.

The inner garden is rife with activity now as many of Elizabeth's and Julian's organizers steadily find them, and it only gets worse when some of the younger ones arrive, children and teeangers alike, and much of them bubble with fanfare as they fawn over Judy. But it doesn't discourage her, in fact, it gives her an idea.

She enlists the aid of some of the children to nab everyone's attention. And just when their choir song hits, Judy switches her shawl with Elizabeth's hat before maneuvering Julian in front of them with his frame covered by their headwear from behind. They form a skewed line quickly as they head down the stairs and out of the garden.

And once the three of them are out of view, they sprint merrily with the remaining children giggling beside them.

Elizabeth only barely manages to jog behind them as they enter a wide gazebo by the estate proper. She pants and wheezes but she's also laughing between those haggard breaths. This concerns Julian who helps her up the steps, but she pats his chest and stands up straight so she can sit beside them. "You're certainly as exciting as your brother," she says. "I sincerely hope that Mr. Wilde can match your pace if he at all intends to pursue you."

"Oh, he's plenty quick," Judy replies proudly.

"I didn't mean it that way, dear."

"O-oh!" she intones, embarrassed. She looks away. "I don't see why me and Nick are always such a popular topic."  _And always in that way too…_

Julian shares a glance with Elizabeth, and it seems that the two silently convene to be honest with her.

"Judes," he begins, "you seriously have no idea why people keep asking about it?"

Now she feels dumb. Cause by the looks of them, it's something obvious, or at least something she should have figured out by now. "Well, I always supposed people just loved to gossip."

"You began something when you started making headway in Zootopia. You did more than tear down the barrier between predator and prey, you saw fit to make a lasting, enviable connection with someone from another species."

Her confusion allows the fluster in her cheeks to subside. "Interspecies friendships are nothing new, Jules," she reasons.

"It isn't," Elizabeth says, "but to the rest of the world, it was more than that. It didn't need to be love, you could have been soulmates, partners in crime, and it would have elicited the same reaction from the media or the populace."

Julian stirs a baleful thought as his eyes wander in the direction of the children, eyes stopping at the sight of a few young hares standing far taller than their bunny siblings, but they are treated no differently and are equally tackled by some of the rowdier ones as they descend into fitful giggles. "You remember that old horse adage, don't you?" he asks, leaning forward as he grips his wrist.

Judy sighs. "Breed. Proceed." She'd heard the line adopted readily by many a race back in the day. It told people to select partners solely on what their genes can provide for their kin, and that love – especially with another species – was a barrier hindering evolutionary perfection. Your blood needed to be the best, and you couldn't do that if you couldn't even breed. But in recent years it's been carefully coded into the minds of the young adults that having a family was important.

"It had been on the back of everyone's minds," Elizabeth adds, thoughts aligned with him. "Clouding judgment in that pursuit to further their own bloodlines. And though I won't deny that necessity for passing on your own genes, we've still orphans that need homes and not enough people looking for them." She smiles quietly to herself, turning to join Julian as they admire the children playing around them. "But the stigma of looking outside of your species had seemed to vanish overnight. Adoption rates sky rocketed, as had interspecies marriages. And it wasn't just about love. People suddenly wanted to try connecting with someone so incredibly different from them." And though people like the Bigs family certainly already had those very connections, now the whole city ended up trying it out even experimentally.

"Without anyone really knowing," Julian continues, "watching you and Nick gradually get so close, and with your work constantly putting you both under the lens of the public eye, you managed to get them to take a really good look at what that kind of connection means. To transcend the boundaries and to look at each other like they were more than just a different kind of mammal, but the same kind of people." He shrugs, the ghost of a smirk playing his lip. "The interspecies scene never had a champion before then. Not really. And now they do, and they don't even really know it."

Judy realizes that the couples in Bronc Town were almost never in the same species, at least not the ones they came to associate with. Had they encouraged that somehow? To perhaps have been in some way responsible? To have slowly seeded the idea into people's heads?

Would Reese and Liz have ever even tried if Nick and Judy didn't show how close they could be? Or would Audrey have even taken the chance to be with Marshal again if it wasn't for them?

Lost in her thoughts, Julian laughs to himself as he pokes her side. She pouts at him before blushing when she realizes that they'd sat in silence for minutes, and there's tea and coffee on the small table now.

Again she feels like she's in another world, but almost as if she is imagining it. All too easily does she fall back into the Broncs, of loose crow feathers and silent screams that fill the gaps and flood the air, but the haven she's in, nestled at the foot of a mountain, bursting with fresh air and the kind of autumn that is pleasant but also alien.

She wants to lose herself in it, but just… can't.  _Is this what running away feels like?_ She asks herself similarly terrible, belittling things, and she reasons that she'll simply get back to facing it when she leaves the grounds, since even this place can't truly bring her out of that town, heart and mind still wandering its streets, looking for something in the darkness.

But she has yet to even consider what she's been doing this entire time anyway.

She's been dealing with the case still, just as much as Nick. They're still keeping correspondence with Andrei Callahan about the Luciano victims for the report, so it seems like they'll be mulling over the case for a while longer even. But the demons still haunting her seem adamant about pestering her about a peculiar detail she can't yet see. Something's still off about the case and she can't quite put her finger on it.

Then her eyes drift to the mug of coffee in her hand and the mirth of the people around her. And so she pushes the thought away once more.

"Would you like anything with that?" asks another red-eye-white bunny no taller than herself, but the mysticism in her eyes tells her that she is still filled with budding youth.

"Oh no," she responds, "but thank you." The girl nods before walking away with a smile, her…  _siblings,_  perhaps, following after her in a fine line away from the three of them.

She notices the gentle features of them all and wonders openly about them. "Are all the staff here so young?"

"They all ought to be," Julian answers. "Haywood – he's the family's patriarch – believes that children ought to learn the value of hard work and how it aids the family." Julian doesn't catch how surprised Judy is, cause the idea that the entire staff here is composed of family members paints a very different picture in her head, one she's ashamed she'd misconstrued by the stigma of a well-off family.

"Haywood believes that, to a child, family must come first in their formative years," he continues. "That and the instillation of hard work. So he has them work the grounds and learn to cook, clean their own clothes, how to be polite and not lose themselves from being spoiled rotten in their lavish homestead like their cousins do in Halberd."

"While I can respect teaching them important life lessons, shouldn't these kids be all be out playing?" Judy asks, stirring her coffee contemplatively.

"They take turns, Judes. They aren't being worked like slaves."

Honestly, she should have figured that, but she's scatterbrained right now and it's bugging her. Julian notices but doesn't comment on it, but Elizabeth would rather address the issue. So with a sigh, she asks "Judy, whatever is the matter?"

"Oh, just the kids here," she answers easily. "Just can't imagine living a childhood like they did. I might have ended up a bigger workaholic than I already am."

Elizabeth is amused by the comment but not Julian, who raises a skeptical brow that Judy immediately notices. But then she realizes that he actually looks impressed. "Good lie," he says. "Didn't think you had it in you."

She shrugs casually. "You can blame that on Nick. I'm afraid he's been rubbing off on me." Judy realizes her mistake far too late as she finds the waiting looks from the suddenly very close children, and the curious glances of adults, not to mention the pleased faces of her two companions.

But when the children meander away, Elizabeth only then finds it in herself to speak. "It's exciting, isn't it? The allure of a bunny and a fox together is enticing, almost delightfully sinful."

Judy reels at such a comment coming from a woman like her. Her brother seems to agree as he gives his fiancé a pointed look. "That was rather unladylike," he says, but his sudden smirk afterwards means that it doesn't actually bother him.

Judy is still blinking at her.

"Try not to look too surprised," Elizabeth says, blushing up to her ears, "it makes me painfully self-aware. That aside, if you haven't noticed, I'm only as prim and proper for as long as I can help it." Her breakdown earlier being all the evidence of that.

"It's not really who you are then?"

"I like to think there are many versions of me and that not a single one of them is exclusively more true than the other. If I'm comfortable in more than one skin, why must I choose which one is the most real?" She sips her tea, delighting in Judy's fascination… but she knows Judy is actually reflecting, taking the philosophy for herself and hoping it answers whatever question is buzzing around in her head. "For example, the kind of person you are at work and the kind of person you are with Mr. Wilde are notably different, aren't they? One considers the world around them with a detective's scrutiny, and the other considers the best use of pleasant company." A general presumption, but it gets the point across.

The kind of person Judy thinks she is with Nick first felt natural and easygoing, but as the case progressed, she felt herself falling into him out of some desperate need for solace. And though she's certain he felt the same way, it doesn't assure her at all about how real the whole experience even was. How much of it was a cry for help? Could something out of that even be called love?

And as the question spurns an ache in her chest, she decides that – with such attentive company – she might gleam an answer from them instead of keeping it to herself.

She leans forward, a trembling in her features that is clear and frightful for Julian and Elizabeth both as she speaks. " _How do I know what I have is love?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last scene was rather difficult to make. We'd intentionally tried to make it almost feel like a different story was being told here, but I was afraid we might go too far. It's gone through quite a few edits but I'm okay enough with this to publish this update.
> 
> That aside, aren't you glad we're not dead!? :D We've been pushing for this post and needing it to come sooner but things got in the way and we're not as free as we used to be. Still, we're figuring it out.
> 
> Anyway, Here's hoping we can make the homestretch this month!


	23. The Natural Order of Things (pt. 2)

The fall of a hammer should not resemble gunfire, and yet it does.

Every thunk rattles his bones like an earthquake, but it does not make him afraid… it only makes him angry. But he huffs and sighs wearily. He's a man of the people now, sworn to protect and serve. He cannot allow his own personal demons to get in the way of that.

 _No matter how annoying they can get._ He looks up at the shaky ceiling, the light bulb rattling in its socket, causing a piece of loose paint to fall on his cheek.

Whomever Nick's neighbor upstairs is, ought to get a noise complaint from him, but he won't, at least not from him. He's heard the pitter patter of tiny feet and gleeful squeals from up there before on days too quiet to not hear much else. A family's up there, and whoever has the misfortune of having to raise a kid or two in a rickety old apartment building deserves some slack at least.

Instead, he decides that maybe he should spend his afternoon outside.

He pulls on a hoodie but he can tell the wash had been done poorly, cause he can still smell Judy on it. Or maybe he's just imagining things. And when he exits the door, he subconsciously holds it open a little longer than he should for a particular bunny to walk through. But she isn't here, hasn't been for a while now.

He locks the door behind him as he leaves, letting the muffled strikes up above vanish behind him.

Down the hall he meets the gaze of a particular anteater, Samson Riviani, his landlord and friend. He is a man as simple as the clothes on his back, clothes tailor made over a decade ago in another country. He'd come from somewhere in the Midwest, and wandered out of there with only his own two feet and never looked back, old enough to claim he'd helped lay the stones to Zootopia's city hall during its inception and actually might not be lying.

The man is busying himself with looking through his janitorial cart for something, but only glances up long enough to spot Nick. "You goin' for a walk, Mr. Wilde?" he asks, his accented voice rumbling sharply at the back of his throat.

"Thought I'd get some fresh air today, Rev," Nick says as he passes him, stopping long enough to inspect the cart for whatever it is he's looking for. "You looking for something?"

"Just me keys," he answers calmly, not even the slightest hint of panic in his voice about losing access to his own building. "Coulda' sworn I had them here a minute ago."

"Hm," he intones, looking over the man's cart.

"What? No witty quip about me old eyes?"

Nick shrugs. "Not in the mood for it. Sorry."

"Hmph. Fox ain't much without his wit," Rev drawls, giving up on his search to eye him. "So why ain't  _you_  much like  _you_  right now anyway?"

Nick's lip tilts sadly. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"Well you oughta," he replies quickly. Nick almost makes to comment but decides not to, staring wordlessly at him as the old landlord steadies himself by his cart, sitting loosely at the edge as he stares at the floor. "You and me, Mr. Wilde, are the kind o' friends that share a pint. Now I know it ain't me place t' pry or make suggestions on how ye' live your life, but men like us need the kind o' friends we talk to when we're sober." Now his eyes meet his, his age evident in his wrinkles, much more sagelike than the ruff and gruff of his sharp tone. "So if you're goin' for a walk, find a place t' go… a place with a friend."

He pulls himself up with a palm pressing against his back, spine realigning with a sudden crack which he grits through. "You have a good afternoon, Mr. Wilde." He walks off with his cart in the other direction. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Yeah, you too," comes his generic response, his wit having died in his throat. And soon he finds himself walking down the hallway once more.

He descends the steps of the building letting all noise fade into the background, muted by wayward thoughts. Out on the streets as he walks through the city itself, even the vast array of colors every building has seems to fade into the dreamlike contours and shapes of their own architecture, of dulled grey and harried memories woven into the steel and painted concrete. And when he enters the Rainforest District, the fresh scent of cooled flora barely even registers to him, ignorable beneath the lingering scent of gunpowder.

But his eyes turn from his thoughts at the sight of a large geometric glass dome, its glowing frame shimmering like a grounded star. The Butterfly Garden, it's called, the destination he'd made to find. He's looking for a friend, and if he's lucky, he'll find one here.

While the outside looks like a jungle, the interior of the dome looks more like it belongs in a meadow. Fields of flowers dotted by small openings holding small benches, some already occupied by children. But perhaps its most daunting feature is the mirrors lining the first three feet of the structure, making the garden look as if it expands indefinitely in all directions save for the doors on either end.

In the center is his friend in question, Honey Badger, who is talking to one of her students before allowing them to scamper off into the garden. She spots him immediately, waving at him from her perch on a pale white bench.

"Didn't expect to see you here."

"Almost didn't expect to come." He'd half wanted to make a quip about 'just checking on her illegal activity' but he isn't quite himself yet.

"I'd ask if you were alright but it's already obvious you're not." She pauses for a moment, patting the seat next to her. "Here, sit with me."

"I guess I should put some effort into trying to hide it. Been out of my game all day. An easy read."

She notes his downtrodden eyes and the slight curve of his lips. "With a face that long, it really shouldn't come as a surprise."

They sit in silence for a while, watching the children scatter along the grounds, chasing and laughing, a mirth only the youth could know.

"I think my parole officer has a crush on me," she says suddenly.

Nick chuckles, a stray sign of merriment from him. "I guess even having worked for Lionheart can be ignored with a pretty face."

She rolls her eyes with a resigned sigh. "Flatterer."

Nick was expecting a jab to his shoulder for such a comment, but then he realizes that he's thinking about Judy again. "What makes you think he's got a crush on you anyway?"

"Too much leeway. Though I'm grateful I can pursue a teaching job so early on in my sentence, I don't think it's advised that someone still on parole be allowed to teach kids. I'm also my own boss here, if you haven't noticed. I don't know all the rules but I think some of these things are illegal for someone of my reputation."

He shrugs. "Don't sell yourself short. Hell, maybe he just trusts that you've learned your lesson."

She shakes her head in denial. "Bradley keeps trying to add to my garden, but with bouquets of roses. I don't think he understands that rootless flowers don't grow…"

"Still keep 'em?"

"I've a few extra vases in the classroom now. Kids have been asking questions too. Some have even noticed my anklet." She kicks up her leg, the blinking tracker around her ankle sliding ever so slightly into view beneath her stretched pant leg.

"Maybe he just likes your garden." She rolls her eyes at him. His teasing doesn't really bother her, but he can tell she appreciates his attempts at trying to cheer up with a different topic occupying him. "Is he really so bad a guy to like?"

"Not sure I can fall for a badger who's only as smart as a textbook. As far as anything else goes, he's terrible. Outside of his job, the man's a social pariah."

He raises a brow. "Like a doctor on parole?" She turns away sheepishly. "So he's got a few quirks, doesn't mean there isn't a great guy beneath it all. Now I'm not saying you should outright marry the guy but maybe giving him a chance once you're off the legal shackle might turn out in your favor. You might even come to appreciate how much of a workaholic he is."

"Like you did with a little bunny in blue?" she teases, smirking at him.

He doesn't meet her eyes, vision stringing along the valley around him. He isn't here, not really. His heart is elsewhere, wherever she is, and his mind is chasing memories of her lost in some dark haze. He wants to be back in the present, wants to face the world and the life he's lived with certainty, tact. But he's immobile, straining to grapple with his own composure, wanting to be anything but a miserable red fox sighing in a garden.

"Is that what's been bothering you?" Honey asks, trying not to sound too worried. She shakes her head. "No, no. It's the case isn't it?" She chuckles lightly. "Hard to imagine you and her having any issues."

His expression is pensive, then frustrated, not even sure how he feels or what he should even focus on. "Yes. No? Both, I guess," he says, exasperated, clutching the bridge of his snout. "The facts we've gathered don't add up so there's a hole in the case we don't have an answer for, but I can't work through it. Me and Judy might have stumbled into something irreversible in our relationship and I'm far more concerned about what's going on between us rather than whatever's missing in this case. It also doesn't help that we've become codependent. Wanting to sleep in each other's arms is one thing but… it almost felt like we  _needed_  to. But it was a crutch, ns escape from fears we'd kept running away from."

A demure little laugh bubbles from her lips, and he regards her with confusion.

"Oh, Nick," she says, laying a gentle hand over his own, "love isn't as complicated as everyone thinks it is. If you like someone enough and enjoy their company, then that should be enough to give it a try at least. You two are complicating your relationship by overthinking it. I say you should just go for it and see where it goes. If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't. I very much doubt one break up is going to tear you two apart anyway."

"And though I'm no expert on how to solve a case," she continues, "I'm fairly certain you two are better off sorting out your feelings and tackling the issue together." One child passes by and gives Honey a thornless rose, which she takes with a resigned sigh and smile, patting the child on the head as she places it by her ear. "Besides, it's easier to face your fears when you aren't dealing with them alone."

Nick's eyes are a little wider, his mouth slightly agape. He's thinking it over, taking her advice seriously and considering his next move. Because of course he'd been overcomplicating things. He's afraid of losing her for a multitude of reasons, but they all boil down to fearing his own personal failings, ultimately disappointing her or… worse.

But nothing happens if they stagnate. They can't fix the crack in the case alone. And they can't figure themselves out unless they take the plunge and see for themselves.

Honey is happy to see the torment in his eyes fade ever so slightly. And she's actually quite amused by how the normally focused fox is so distracted.

She hops off the bench and pulls him out with her. "C'mon, it's already five and I need to round up these kids for their parents." She doesn't let go of his wrist, tugging him along. "Maybe we'll have dinner too. I'm guessing you don't have plans tonight anyway."

He raises a brow, his smirk returning. "And what if I did?"

"Well unless they're with that bunny, you've got no choice." She exhales into the air, releasing some tension as she shuts her eyes and readies herself. "I'm also calling Bradley over to sort things out. So if it goes south, you're my backup."

Nick grins at the thought. It seems that they've both made headway.

By the time the children are home, Bradley arrives and he's as stale as Honey predicts on every topic that isn't about his job. But Nick manages to open him up on other things, and to ask questions about anything he doesn't understand, and Brad eventually gets Honey to talk adamantly about her years in college.

There's enough laughter there for things to ease, and even Honey considers letting them do it again tomorrow. But he declines, stating that he shouldn't get too familiar with her, and even openly apologies for being so forward before. She then admits that she might consider asking him again when her sentence is over. He leaves with a smile that won't leave.

Nick tries and " _fails_ " to hide the smug look on his face. Honey rolls her eyes again before admitting that maybe he isn't such a bad guy after all.

She sends Nick off with a tupperware filled with some leftover chicken but not before calling out to him across the garden almost awkwardly after their farewells. "What are you gonna do about Judy?" she asks.

He turns, a small smile lingering along his lips, soft and certain. The lights dance along the makeshift meadow, clarity somewhere there between the shards of moonlight bleeding through the canopy, eyes and heart alight with something wonderful. "Love her till it hurts. Even if I don't know exactly what that means, I'm going to try and find out."

It isn't long till Sahara Square alights with neon before him, but he walks passed the busy streets and bright lights, remembering the little bunny he'd wander these sidewalks with.

When he enters his apartment building, he sees a glint of something beneath Rev's desk just outside his personal room. He inspects it and finds a ring of keys tucked inside his work boots. The carpet beside it has been recently moved, judging by the displaced dirt around it. Probably a prank by one of the kids or something.

He takes the keys and knocks on the door.

The anteater's wife opens it, but the old man can be spotted leaning back on his chair to see Nick.

Nick tosses the keys at him, and he tracks it before catching it with ease.

"Your eyes aren't as old as you think they are," Nick comments before leaving. "Try to keep it away from the kids though."

Finally in his apartment, Nick feels the last passing train rattle the room ever so slightly. And he remembers how terrified that made Judy at first. And now his thoughts lock onto her and only her.

The scent of her fills his hoodie still, but even when he takes it off, he still feels her in the air. She even fills the empty spaces – on the sofa or the other seat at the counter – she somehow makes the place complete, even if the apartment is barely even a fraction of what he wants it to be.

He settles with his thoughts, lets them wander his mindscape until he finds himself lying in bed, subconsciously making space for her.

And as he shifts under the sheets and cranes his body, he swears he can feel her still in the crook of his neck.

But it isn't enough, it never is. Can't be. Not without her.

So in the dead of night, at an hour later than it would be reasonable for anyone to be up, he calls her.

She answers.

**~o~~~~o~**

Judy is invited to dinner at the Harrier Estate, and at first she's rather excited about the visit, but then she walks into her room and stares down her wardrobe, only to find that she does not quite know what to wear. She opts for a black sleeveless evening dress cut up to above her knees, and lace weaved from above her breasts and up to her neck, the same thing she wore to her prom back in high school.

It's one of the nicest things she owns, which is a shame cause she realizes that she's never really had much opportunity to wear something like this since. She even glances back at her wardrobe and finds that her clothing is far more farmland than it is city, more denim than couture, a lot of flannel but no silk.

 _I really need to go shopping one of these days. Maybe take Gizelle or Francine._  She considers Nick but he's more than likely to think she'd look good in just about everything. Hell, she could wear a potato sack and he'd still find a way to compliment her.

She walks out of her apartment and finds Callum waiting for her again. His eyes widen at the sight of her, and she wonders if maybe she's a little overdressed. She doesn't realize just how stunning she looks, or how beet red Callum's cheeks are under the shade of night.

They don't talk much. He mostly just exchanges pleasantries before eying the road again, which is fine, since her thoughts are elsewhere.

She thinks on how her conversation with Elizabeth and Julian had gone. She'd been terrified for a moment after she'd asked. It had been sudden, out of the blue, but she wanted – nay,  _needed_  to ask.  _How do I know what I have is love?_

Julian's stance on the topic was firm. "When you no longer need to question it." She remembers An having a similar philosophy somehow. But what does it mean for her relationship if she's still constantly questioning it? Well, according to him, then that means it's not quite  _love_  just yet.

But, surprisingly, Elizabeth's answer was very different from her fiancé's. "You know it is love when that is what you want it to be." Because, to her, love is not an act of fate, it is a decision. And in this case, one they should make _together._

And she's more inclined to take Elizabeth's side… and then she realizes that she didn't want to hear that what she has with Nick isn't love, even if it's not yet. She wants it to be, hopes that it's strong enough to be.

But then it stops being a question of whether or not it's love. Cause now she wonders if it'll work out, or if he's looking at what they have the same way she does at this very moment.

The car stops suddenly. She's arrived.

Callum opens the door for her but he doesn't bow, gesture, or even look at her for that matter. Instead, he's staring out into the property, catching glances at some of the other Harriers as they pass him by.

Judy climbs out and is about to thank him until she sees the look of her reserved concern on his face. "Callum? What's wrong?"

He glances at her for a moment before pointing with his head in the direction of three bunnies passing by. One of them is in tears, a second looks like he's about to be, and the third is stoic but pained inside. "Some of us are in mourning."

Judy's eyes widen. "What happened?"

"A bus filled with some of our own was comin' back from the Whitehall College to spend some family time at the Mildew Burrows. Storm hit and their bus careens off a sheer edge." He sighs, shutting his eyes and thinning his mouth in a line. "They haven't found the bodies yet so we have no idea if any of them survived – if any survived at all."

That confuses her. "That storm was over a week ago and it hasn't been on the news."

"It's not public," he says grimly. "It's been happenin' over the past few months. Some of us dyin' by some accident. And to stifle the panic, we'd been having the media keep their paws out of it in respect to our family. But we couldn't stop the first ones to bleed out, but they're nothing more than tabloids they were."

Judy sees that he isn't as broken up as some of them. He is clearly not as attached to some of those lost, but he mourns them still. With a family so large, he can't have known every Harrier, but a death in the family is still a death in the family.

And soon, she will be part of this family. "What can you tell me about them?" she asks. Her eyes are steely, determined, ready to solve another case despite her pains.

There is hope in his eyes when he looks at her, but his mouth stills when he looks passed her, eyes widening in the face of whatever oncoming presence is behind her.

"I beg you not to solve every case that comes your way, Miss Hopps," comes a womanly voice, an accent aloft it that is distinctly American.

Judy turns to meet the dark brown eyes of another bunny, her fur of some asymmetric pattern of pale auburn, black, and a milky white. One of her ears folds halfway, but then she realizes that lopsided ear is notably longer than the other. The woman notices Judy's quick observation of her and extends a hand to quickly regale her attention. "Estella Loprae – or rather, Estella  _Harrier_ , as the case may be. I'm your brother's apprentice."

"Judy Hopps—"

"She knows," Callum interrupts unnecessarily. He coughs, embarrassed. "Lady Estella has a knack for knowin' things."

"Callum," Estella greets. "I see your car's still in the drive. Why don't you go park it and I'll see you inside. I'll even save you a seat next to me."

The boy excitedly meanders off, taking his car. Judy doesn't miss his clear infatuation for the woman. "I didn't know Callum had someone."

Estella laughs under her breath. "Oh, no, it's nothing like that. His affections are mostly one-sided, I'm afraid. But despite being five years my junior, he's intriguing in a genuine sort of way so I've yet to close myself to the option." She takes Judy's wrist and brings her towards the maze. "Going back to the issue, I can assure you that we've made headway on the case and we've our very best people on it."

Judy clutches her bare arms. "But solving cases is what I'm good at," she retorts. "Look, you people are about to become family and I can't idly stand by knowing that there might be something I can do about this."

"And under normal circumstances we'd happily accept your offer."

Judy raises a brow. "What do you mean by that?"

Estella pauses with a deep sigh before turning to face Judy in the dim lighting, her auburn gaze worrisome with a hint of something else. "As your brother, Uncle Julian knows your tells and he knows you're not quite…  _here,_  yet. He knows your previous case is still hoisted on your shoulders and that whatever is going on between you and that fox is not making it any easier right now. So you've already got yourself a full plate and adding onto that will only make things worse."

Judy rubs her arm, embarrassed. "He noticed all that?"

"The same way you've noticed that he clearly misses you more than you miss him."

She shrinks at that. But it isn't her fault. She misses him like a twin sister would but her mind is elsewhere, and she's still kind of stuck missing Nick more than anything else.

She shakes her head. "Does that upset him?"

"He says it doesn't bother him but I can tell it does a little. But the point is, he understands. He even knows your visits here are serving as some escapism. Now, he won't judge you – and neither will I – but he believes that it is in your best interest to focus on your recovery before you do anything so drastic."

A part of her wants to argue but she decides against it. She's too sensible to ignore the truth so stubbornly. "Make no mistake," she begins, "I don't like sitting on the sidelines like this but I understand. I'll respect your decision as a family to keep this with yourselves but if things get out of hand or if you hit a wall you can't get passed, then I'm getting in on this case."

"You're a difficult one to deny, aren't you?" Estella compliments. "It's a reasonable proposition. Very well."

By this time they're already through the maze and Judy can finally see the full colors of Estella's gown. At first it was mostly ignorable in the dark, but here in the light, the golden colors and Victorian floral patterns vary the style of her outfit to match her estranged fur color.

Then the rest of the area opens and she spots many other Harriers making their way inside, all wearing similar 19th Century formal wear. All of a sudden she feels  _under_ dressed.

Estella immediately notices the way she looks over the women then at herself. She bites her lip, looking for words to say but is quickly cut off. Callum hurries to her side before bowing with his top hat in hand. "Milady," he greets before curling his arm for her to hook.

She hesitates but only until Julian walks up behind Judy, nodding to her silently. "I suppose I'm leaving you in good hands," she says before taking Callum's arm. "Though I wouldn't be opposed to a proper chat one of these days, if you'll indulge me sometime." She winks before giggling, which seems to alight Callum's heart.

Julian approaches his sister, offering his arm when she finally spots him. "You look stunning."

She rolls her eyes as she lets him take her inside. "Please, everyone here looks like they're Halberian royalty! I very much doubt I stand out as anything more than a sore thumb."

"Oh you'd be surprised." He grins at her. "We wear these things at least thrice a week! To them, anything that isn't pale white with red eyes is exotic. Trust me, you'll turn heads, and not just because you look like me."

She sighs but feels better for it. "I'd slug you if I didn't think I'd end up ruining that perfect little suit of yours." She almost doesn't believe him until she sees some of them send glances her way. Others squee whilst some whisper amongst themselves as if happily scandalized by something. "Some of them are staring," she comments quietly, smiling meekly.

"Par for the course, really. While the Zootopians have likely gotten used to seeing you, people here in the estate don't get out much. You're kind of a treat to see."

"I can only imagine what it was like for your first day here."

"Overwhelming, I tell you. But there's a particular quality about you." He smiles haughtily as if hiding some secret beneath the whites of his eyes.

"Oh? And what might that be?" She half expects empty compliments just to bolster her self-image

"You're the famous Judy Hopps. Your fame doesn't elude you here, especially not with the children." He gestures over to some teens with his eyes. They immediately turn away when it's clear that she's caught them staring. Others, children, think they've been caught as well, made obvious as they scatter like leaves in the wind, their expensive coat tails and floor length gowns flittering behind them.

They find themselves finally in a grand hall where an amalgam of tables are lined with silverware and various vegetarian cuisines.

Judy scans the room across the great many residents already seated, and all of them wearing the same kind of formal wear. "I feel out of place in this dress," she tells her brother. "Do you think Elizabeth could lend me one?"

Estella comes to stand beside them, still attached to Callum. "Though it does fit the Harrier aesthetic—" she pulls her neckline mid-length down her cleavage then lets it slap back, "—it's stuffy and has an unnecessary amount of cleavage. Trust me, you're fine wearing what you are."

They ignore the way Callum is staring owlishly at her chest.

"Uncle Julian," Callum says rather sheepishly as he comes to his senses, "I wouldn't want to trouble ya', but I'm afraid I've distracted Lady Estella here and I've not found a proper seat yet. So… I've a wonder if we could have a seat at your table?"

Julian's pitying look gives him no hope. Though it's clear the boy just wants a seat next to Estella, most of the nearby tables are mostly occupied.

"Not tonight, I'm afraid," Julian apologizes. "I'm to be seated with Lord Haywood and I've no say there."

Estella nudges Callum playfully and tells him that they can just sit elsewhere, somewhere in the middle, and Judy can see that some of those areas are uncomfortably tight with the seat spacing. He offers to let her go on her own but she rolls her eyes and tugs him along.

Judy could have been rather taken by the scene but instead her eyes drift back to her brother. "You speak differently with Callum."

He shrugs. "My inflections and speech are different with many of the Harriers. Can't help it."

"But not with Elizabeth?"

"There's a reason why I call her Lizzie. I think our accent charms her, even." He winks with a stupid grin, a little too proud of himself there.

She nods as he takes her further into the grand hall, the seemingly endless space stretching out in all directions. It's meant to house the whole family, and it's a little daunting. It's many times larger than her own in Bunny Burrows, and it shows with all the additional families here in this...  _warren –_ though it does look almost too posh to warrant the word somehow.

The room ends with a large rectangular table but she realizes that it's really no different than many of the others. Only that it is not interconnected with another, but is still a little closely spaced to the rest. It also has a particularly large chair off to the side.  _How odd._

"You said Haywood was the Patriarch, right?" she asks.

"Yeah, and we'll be seated with him."

"But… why tonight of all nights?"

He tilts his lip, his confidence waning. "I'd like to say he wanted to meet you but that would be a lie."

"And the truth?"

"He wants to meet me for some reason."

"And that scares you?"

"No, not really." He gives her a smile, hoping it's enough to convince her. "But Haywood does keep with rather daunting company, and one in particular is kind of…  _bothersome._ "

"Julian," –she steps before him, arms crossed– "should I be worried?"

"Trust me, you'll only make it worse if you do."

She sports a vivid mark of confusion, squinting slightly as if he'd grown a second head. "Was that… intentionally cryptic?"

"Nope."

It's then that she realizes that he doesn't specify if he's referring to the "intentionally" or the "cryptic" part.

"You're confusing me."

He chuckles nervously. "I'd rather it stay that way." Her unimpressed look makes him sigh. "Just… for your sake and mine, just let me handle it, yeah? Now, c'mon, let's have you seated."

She almost doesn't let it go, but her brother's life is his alone. She'll pry like a twin sister ought to when the time comes.

He pushes the chair in behind her before he leaves and circles the table to sit across from her. And in that time, Elizabeth slips in beside her, a soft giggle stifled in her lips as she gestures for her to keep quiet. By the time Julian manages to get to his seat, he spies his fiancé next to his sister and rolls his eyes.

"Very funny, Lizzie," he comments sarcastically as he takes his seat. "Now if you would join me over here?" He gestures to the empty one beside him.

"Rare is the opportunity that I get to speak to your sister," she replies. "It's only ever happened once before, even. I ought to cherish our time like a gem! I can gab with you any other day, dear."

Judy catches the slight disappointment on his face as Elizabeth readies her attention on her. She understands why Elizabeth is desperate to know his family – she's fearful of not knowing him as much he knows her – but she has an obligation as a sister despite.

"Elizabeth, I think—"

"No, no, she has a point," Julian interjects, knowing full well what she'd been planning to do. "Besides, I haven't been a part of your life in ages. Let's get to know each other again. It's really the most important of this evening."

They descend into conversation, speaking animatedly through the dinner about what Judy's life has been like. There are moments, however, where Julian tells Elizabeth about something that's happened to them as siblings. And since she's lived these stories, her focus wanders about the grand hall.

There are songs of birthday celebrations, and general merriment from drink, the sound of whispers abreast quiet glances and general gossip – some of which she can tell is about her – and then there's clanking of fine silverware, an expensive rancor that reminds her of dinner at home.

But she admits to herself that she doesn't miss it as much as she should. The sheer noise of an evening with the family has its qualities, but a quiet evening with Nick carries with it a different kind of catharsis. She slumps in her seat. She misses him.

The clamor of the room mutes in her mind's ear when a large double-door opens to unveil a striking pair enter.

A hare – who is notably taller than the rest of his kind in the room – walks in with an even gaze against his long, rugged face. His rolled-up dress shirt beneath his silver vest is distinctly modern in style, a far cry from the 19th century aesthetic of the rest of the room. His gait is lax, almost sluggish, but his sheer size – standing taller than most wolves even – is intimidating enough to ignore any of the minor etiquettes he doesn't subscribe to.

His companion, however, somehow appears  _far_ more commanding.

Her presence is almost like a looming aura, her black dress and lace sleeves distinguishing her attire and accenting her fixed haughty gaze, her red eyes glowing like shimmering lifeblood. Her fur is as white as snow, flush and golden in the orange lighting of the room, framing that tiny – almost seductive – smirk of hers.

Her heels clack softly against the wooden floors, movements even with every step matching distance with the last, a show of practice and poise as her back remains upright as if fixed that way. She is well-bred, more so than anyone else in the room – the mark of a pure Harrier, unstained by foreign blood and foreign practices.

She is also rather tall for a bunny, shy only two inches beneath Nick even, made more apparent as she approaches them with the tall hare in tow as she finds her eyes looking up at them. Then all at the table stand to bow and curtsy at the pair, Judy included with a barely noticeable delay.

But only when the woman looks back at Judy does she realize she'd been staring. It's uncharacteristic of her, but the place is serving as a distraction so she willfully takes the embarrassment. She prepares for a commentary from the intimidating woman, but it never comes.

For a moment she's briefly terrified but the woman's almost cold exterior suddenly wanes _,_  making way for a quiet giggle reminiscent of Elizabeth's escaping her barely parted lips before quickly melding back into her sultry smirk, eyes softer and half-lidded.

"Judy," Julian says as he stands beside her, "this is Lady Isabela. Lord Haywood's sister." The title seems to reverberate through the room, a name with station and heft, a sheer intensity to it even as it is plainly spoken. This woman is an immediate relative to the family head, and it shows.

This makes Judy wonder. Is the Patriarch, Haywood Harrier, just as magnanimous and haughty?

"A pleasure." She curtsies, and Judy tries to return one but doing it alone just shows how awkward it looks to try it with a dress so shortly cut, but it seems that no one is bothered by it, and much less the woman across from her. "Though I must say, the pleasure ought be but mine," she continues. "Few are the moments that we are graced with such illustrious company! Rarer still when they are so—" she glances at Julian "— _fascinating._ "

"Oh, I'm really nothing special," Judy replies almost automatically. She'd taken enough of the same compliments that so few of them manage to elicit a genuine appreciation from her. Lady Isabela is no different in that regard.

"Humble. A fine trait but I won't stand for it. Facts are facts and people who are more than the norm standout simply because they  _do._ And you, young lady, are far more than a bunny with a badge. Why, you've even integrated yourself with a fox."

Somehow hearing her relationship with Nick being described like that comes with it a particular brand of embarrassment. Her blush is apparent, but again Isabela pays it no mind. "Me and Nick aren't like that," she admits. "People have just jumped to their own conclusions about me and him sharing an apartment before."

"Oh, I pay little attention to gossip, but when one goes to see the city, it only takes a quick glance at you two to give someone an idea about what your relationship is like. There's a familiarity there, an ease that is hard to find between two people. And whether or not it's more than a meager friendship, it's something that ought be cherished." Julian and Elizabeth hum in agreement,  _the traitors._

Isabela takes a sip from her glass, and Judy instinctively reaches for her own only to find that it is empty. In fact, she hasn't gotten anything on her plate and apparently everyone else is already eating off theirs. But much to her relief, Elizabeth trades plates with her, earning a thankful nod from Julian.

Isabela's eyes almost seem to flicker for a moment, her realizing something. "Right, Julian," she says, turning to him, "Haywood does apologize that he simply cannot join us tonight. He's preoccupied with a delegate of sorts, so he will meet you in his office after supper."

She can't tell how her brother is taking the news. There's a stoicism there when his lavender irises seem to dull, showing no sign of disappointment or surprise, perpetuated with the thin line of his lips, vanishing as he continues to eat his salad.

"Miss Hopps, when your brother is wed into the family, will you be living with us here in the estate?" Isabela asks.

Judy winces at the question as she's put into the center of conversation again. She wishes Julian and Elizabeth could at least attempt to converse but they seem content to let Isabela occupy her. She doesn't know why, but she could fathom that it might be because she's the Patriarch's sister, but she suspects that it might be more.

Though, now that she's considering it, she might actually put herself in a place like this. It'd feel like the Burrows again… only fancier. But she can't bring herself to really want it. She likes living in the city, spending her nights at its center where she can hear the iron jungle breathe.

"I'd consider it," she finally manages, "but I've just got a new apartment and it would be a shame to part with it without giving it at least a year's chance, Lady Isabella."

"Bella," she offers. "Isabela is a name I acclimate with the Halberd Harriers and my life with them is well and far behind. And the offer still stands. You'd be well welcome here. We've more than enough room and that's already in preparation for the incoming progenies Lady Elizabeth will accrue."

This causes Elizabeth's cheeks to darken, but she's saved by Julian who engages Bella in conversation.

Lizzie leans in to Judy, whispering. "An immediate compliment from Lady Bella, and on the first meeting! I do believe my fiancé ought to envy how quickly you've acclimated with us."

"I think he just laid the groundwork for me to work on," Judy admits. "I have no doubt that he'd been talking me up in lieu of tonight." She'd hardly done anything to garner the woman's respect, and yet she has it. Certainly her work has earned her some merit, but the Harriers are a family of families, a quality made clear in the compound they're in, housing extended families even if none of them share their blue blood. It's Julian's fault, no doubt, but perhaps she can earn their favor outside of his influence.

"Lizzie, I was hoping you could help me with something…"

The two converse, quieting themselves at certain intervals, and Julian is a little disappointed that he isn't in on it. But still, he takes pleasure in seeing them get to know each other so well, there's some things he can comfort himself with.

Isabela takes his wrist to grab his attention, no doubt noticing that he'd been staring.

"Avert your eyes," Lady Bella whispers in his ear, teasing him, "they gleam not where they should."

The endless walls echo with the sounds of chatter and laughter, crowned occasionally with song, both old and new. And it floods the air evermore as their silverware is emptied and their bellies replete, the tables showered with talk and iced quietly with fresh drink, some even slipping into the hands of those too young to handle them.

Judy wishes for nothing more than to remain here, to sink her bones into the valley and call a space in it her home. To vanish from her life elsewhere, to become something else in another place. To be here, and not there.

To forget that she'd nearly died twice in the same week.

But something tugs at her, pulls her out of that valley when the evening ends. It sits her in the Aries and hurries her home. It drags her up the steps to her apartment then places her in bed, barely dressed and not even washed.

It keeps her there, staring at the ceiling, the evening she'd just experienced tucked away for her to revel in for another night.

And just before she starts wondering what had taken her here in the first place, her phone rings.

She already knows who's calling.

**~o~~~~o~**

_Come to work with me tomorrow._

He could have texted it, knowing she'd oblige, but he wants to hear her voice.

_I won't argue. I think we've spent enough time apart._

It's genuine, laced with longing and relief, tipped with the melody of her quiet laughter, like a love letter signed.

… _I've missed you._

It doesn't matter who'd said it. It resonates with them both as they reach for each other in the dark, daring to claim something they hope is theirs, daring to dream that it will never belong to another.

**~o~~~~o~**

Morning comes in a flash of color, bleeding life into the city once more as they peer out of their windows, watching the dust and all the grays shave off the edges of buildings through its contours and corners, ripping away the dying shadows in their cracks and blooming like the first rays of spring through the towers of glass.

Autumn's warmth should not have these hues and shades, but it does somehow, decorating the landscape for them as the city awakens with the promise of something in the horizon.

And as they head off into the sunrise, they intend to see that promise kept.

The station, Judy finds, is a sight that fills her with a familiar glee. For once she'd come here wanting nothing more than to fulfill a dream, now she's here to fulfill another one.

She is greeted by Remy on the way in, tipping his old janitor's cap at her.

She waves at Clawhauser at the counter who squeals happily in return. He'd been sad that they've separated for a time, but his smile is every indication that he knows things are better. What's more, the way he glances at her office tells her that her fox has already arrived.

She opens the door to their conjoined office, finding him lounging about on her chair, waiting for her. Before he can flirt, she speaks. "How did you get here before I did? You don't even own a car."

"I know a few shortcuts through the commute," he says, shrugging, but her unimpressed cheek tells him she knows better than to believe him on this. "Ok, fine, I paid for a hotel a couple blocks away," he says a little sheepishly. "Couldn't stay at my place for long, knowing I'd get to see you in the morning."

She clutches her arm, elation filling her weary bones and chasing sorrows out of her skin. "I walked into that one, didn't I?"

He shakes the nerves out of his burning fur, hopping down to open his arms for her. She plunges into him, the familiar feel of his arms wrapping around her filling them with warmth, the idea that this is as it should be, that they  _fit_.

She leans back and looks up at him, eyes widening for a moment when they lock close with his, noses mere inches apart. Their lips quiver, half-lidded gazes tilting their heads almost automatically. But there is hesitation still, fearful of plunging back into that blind desire, putting them back at square one.

There is control now, a growing awareness of what they're doing and who they are together. It isn't clear, it isn't perfect, but it's something  _good._

For now that is enough. So instead, the growing passion building in them subsides, but Nick isn't so willing to let all of it die.

His lips brush against hers, chaste and featherlight, but it's enough to bloom a blush across her cheeks and ears. There's something about this one that's suddenly far more delightful than it has any reason to be.

"What-?" is all she manages.

He shrugs, arms still at her waist. "Well I was already there."

He pulls away, ambling towards the table and taking some fresh coffee cups in hand. "I was thinking we could skip the bullpen today," he says, handing her one.

"I don't think the Chief would like that very much." She leans against the table beside him, no real sense of a protest in her voice.

"Eh," he shrugs, "I think we deserve this, don't you think?"

She rolls her eyes, lip tilting but hasn't stopped smiling. "We really shouldn't be pushing it."

He grins, leaning down to meet her eyes on level. "You're not trying very hard there, Carrots. Admit it, I'm rubbing off on you." He wiggles his brows.

"You're terrible, Nicholas Wilde." She slugs him in the arm but still doesn't protest to staying. Her fingers rap against the surface of her cup, as she leans against his desk. "So… what did you do while I was away?"

"I visited Honey at her dome. Turns out her parole officer had a thing for her. He came on a little too strong at first but it turns out he's not that bad a guy. She might give him a chance when her sentence is done so he doesn't get fired and so she can get ample time to think it over."

She's bemused. It's unorthodox but sometimes things like this work out. "Strange place to find love. Hope it works out. Honey deserves a little happiness outside of her kids."

He hums in agreement. "Guy like that doesn't bother you though?"

"You never know sometimes. It's a terrible thing to screw up a first impression but it shouldn't be a deal breaker." She eyes him up. "Like you, for example."

He returns her smile but he's unsure about his own first impression. "I don't know, I like to think I came off as rather clever."

"Slick, maybe, but you were totally a jerk," she grins at him as he rolls his eyes. Her gaze is distant now, lost in her thoughts. He's as much to thank for where she is today as she is herself, and how easily things could have been different kind of worries her. "Ever wonder what life would have been like if we never worked together?"

"What do you mean?"

Her ears fold back, her expression concerning and pensive. "The photo with Otterton on it happened to have that pawpsicle you were selling. I'd have never thought to approach you if I hadn't seen it. If things were different, we might never have met."

"You'd have arrested me by now, that's for sure." There is a reassurance tapered across the velvet ripples of his voice, a kindness that is like him but the kind he only shows in private. "You're too clever and I'd have been a pest."

She laughs, weakly but stronger than she was just a moment ago, the droop in her cheeks giving way to the tight muscles hidden underneath, showcasing his favorite feature: her smile. "Don't sell yourself short. You'd have kept up with me, or at least wizened up to skip town."

"Hm, guess I might've," he agrees quietly. He doesn't challenge her logic, doesn't wonder if they might have been friends anyway. Instead he yearns to change the topic, to think on today, and tomorrow, and the next few years he'll spend wanting her.

"Out of curiosity, if you  _did_ end up skipping town, where  _would_ you go?"

"Halberd," he answers without hesitation.

She almost lets it go right there but there is a story brimming at the uncertain edge of his lips, masked weakly beneath his lukewarm features.

"You said you went there before," she states nonchalantly, the razor edge of her keen eye whipping above her knowing smile. "What  _were_ you doing there exactly?"

"Getting a rock." His response is ironclad.

Her deadpan, apparent. "Well? Aren't you going to tell me about it?"

"Oh, I sure hope so." She might have been irritated by it, but his concern for it is genuine, the softness of his features unlike the snide and self-assured posture he'd adopted to the point of norm, almost wilting with the haunting idea that he might never get to tell her that story. And he wants to tell her, sincerely, truly, but he can't for some reason.

Perhaps it is in the timing or maybe there's someone who won't let him just yet, but in the end it doesn't matter. He wants to tell her, and that's all she cares about. Besides, it isn't like it's killing her to find out. "That was unreasonably cryptic of you, Wilde." She sighs, the curl of her smirk never failing. "But I suppose I'll let it slide."

He breathes easy, tension he didn't even know was there suddenly pouring out of him as he relaxes. "You're a saint," he says, thankful tone so unlike him it's almost jarring.

He crumples his empty cup and tosses it skillfully across the room into the waste bin which should have been beneath his desk but he'd put it there so he could toss trash into it from a distance and look cool doing it. Which makes it very  _un_ cool when he misses after tossing her cup.

Laughter vibrates through her throat, stifled as the fox winces and rushes over to correct his mistake. He rolls his eyes when he catches her bemused smile.

"Foul ball," he says playfully, "you clearly rigged it."

"Pfft! That's not even the right sport!"

He sits himself at his desk, pulling her up with him even if she's grinning ear-to-ear at his expense.

"So what about you? Anything I should know about?"

She's giddy at the thought, the other world she'd stepped into not so long ago feels like a grand tale in and of itself, even though it really isn't. She's overly excited about the idea of the place despite only being there twice. So she finds it in herself to not work herself up as to not oversell it and quietly exhales. "Well, Julian is taking his wife's name but she still intends to take his, I've made more than a few friends there too, and I've been officially invited to the wedding. You're my plus one, by the by."

The thought doesn't excite him as much as he'd hoped it would, he'd heard  _wedding_ and  _invite_ back at the apartment and he'd figured as much, but it's the setting and the people that sets him on edge somewhat, curling his toes and fraying the crimson edges of his dark furs. "I'll be sure to wear Kevlar underneath the tux, then," he says with a hint of a scowl.

"Nick, they're not as creepy as you said they'd be. In fact, aside from being hardcore on the gothic, they're pretty normal people. They're also kind of stereotypically polite like they would be in the movies, which is actually kind of surreal."

"That's just how they're normally like. Just wait until they start—" a vivid shiver creeps up his spine. "Nevermind. Don't make me say it."

"I don't know what's running through your head, Nick, but their patriarch, Haywood, runs a tight ship there. Whatever they might have been like when you met them in Halberd is likely nothing like they are here."

"Wait," he pauses. " _Haywood_ is the patriarch here? I thought… Well, I guess I'm not bringing the Kevlar after all."

"Oh?" She honestly wishes she could stop bringing up that city since it just gleams more clues from his story that only leads to more questions, but she can't help it. "So you know him?"

"Not really. I just… kind of stole his car back in the capital."

If she'd still had coffee in her mouth, she'd have spat it out. "W-what!?"

"Don't worry, he let me," he replies, intentionally playing innocent.

Her eye twitches. "He…  _let_ you?"

"It's a long story."

"I swear, Wilde, if I never hear this story, I'm going to throttle you."

"Kinky but I'm not into it."

She's embarrassed enough to forget the conversation and slug him again.

There is a knock at the door followed by Clawhauser who leans in through the crack. "Oh, hey! I figured you two were playing hooky together!"

"Judy's idea," Nick says snidely. She promptly slugs him in the shoulder again.

"Anything we should know?" she asks.

Clawhauser doesn't seem too keen to answer, twiddling his fingers and grinning sheepishly. "Well, there's that noise complaint from a while back."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Nick asks.

"Well  _noise_ wasn't really the problem."

Judy shares a look with her partner. "Then what  _was_?"

"Murders. A lot of them." He almost hurls, memories of the uncensored photos flooding back to him. Leave it to Bogo to have him in the bullpen to see it today of all days. "No leads, even when – _Hrk!_ " He stifles an unpleasant upchuck. "Room was just… _drowning_ in blood."

"Should we—?"

"Nope." His immediate response gives them pause, even if any stricture to him falters in the face of his disgusted expression.

"Uh, Ben? Why not?"

"Bogo kind of wants you two to take the week off. You both have been working non-stop so he wants you guys to let him and the rest handle it. You already went against orders to take it slow."

She raises a brow. They should know by now that they aren't about to just idly stand by. "And if we decide to help out anyway?"

"Oh, Chief Bogo has that covered. Said he'd fire you both if you tried." Before they can ask how serious Bogo actually was, Ben slips away, giggling to himself.

The idea of another killer in the city lingers like a haunting shadow between them, regressing what gleeful progress they've made, flashing memories of an old town and the ghosts that lean close to its people. Sounds of crows and a river running through an ancient canal, of gunfire and the blaring sirens. All of yesterday's nightmares clutching feverishly at their necks.

She moves to leave the room after Ben but Nick tugs at her arm.

His eyes decorate a paper-thin resolve, a weakness he dares let slip in the briefest of moments. It croons about him, the silent melody of naïve, hopeful speculation. "I'm allowed to love you, right? Even when it hurts?"

She doesn't believe she'd ever intentionally try to hurt him, but every relationship takes a risk of hurting. It happens, it's just how life works, and only those truly determined ever really survive the first spat as well as the thousandth.

She doesn't _want_  to believe that there will be a time where one of them might reconsider what they have right here in this fleeting moment, that this bond might one day become fragile and toxic, but she's willing to endure that doubt, willing to face what happens if it turns out she's wrong about them.

"I'll hold onto you even then…" she whispers. "I'll dare the world to tell me it's never gonna work, and I'll prove them wrong." She runs a hand over her ears, letting them fall behind her as her hands stop at the back of her neck, looking up at him and never turning away. "We'll make mistakes. I'll hurt you and you'll hurt me but… no matter where  _this_ goes, I'll stand by you."

Again he feels himself drawn to her, again that same sensation blossoming in his chest, curling around his heart as he takes her other hand for a second before plunging quickly into her lips.

Her mouth opens barely a second after, letting his longer tongue lap over hers but the heat radiating off his lips alone sends sensations that ripple across her features, burning a familiar blush across her cheeks, begging her to pull closer, to know that flame intimately.

His snout softens against hers, feeling the burning passion he'd felt just a moment ago fade away in favor of something else. There is a need of her, a desire drenched in the coiling warmth that rises from his eager fingers, working their way to her waist and the back of her head.

The same heat she'd felt before roars through her chest, and with a firm hand that presses to his, she finds that he's feeling much the same.

They pull away, bated breath lingering with the scent of their raw attraction in the air, so hot that it could melt the vents around them. The sheer need of something more tugs at them, causing Nick's hand to fall onto the clasp of her vest, and hers onto the buttons of his uniform.

The still unlocked door opens behind them, shutting immediately before someone gasps and slips away.

They don't know who it had been, but it doesn't matter.

Their eyes wander over each other, still panting, gazes half-lidded, and hands idle at each other's bodies.

"Are we…?" she asks, the rest of the sentence slipping away beneath her labored breaths.

He almost makes to answer, but his eyes go wide and his hands loosen.

She almost makes to speak for them both, but her lips still and her hands release the buttons and fall flat against his chest.

There it is again, that same lingering sense of desperation, the one foil that makes this uncertain. It's twitching at his fingers, the weight of his weapon apparent, reminding him that he feels like he's still at the brink of an awakening nightmare, that all the joys he might feel could slip away in the very next moment.

She dares to forget these very same thoughts, lets herself fall away from them all as she clings to the wanton desire still wafting between them. But she can only hide in this haze for so long before she slips back into reality.

And yet there is also that determination, that control, that unwillingness to let fear take them again. Now may not be the time for them surrender to things so carnal, but perhaps this moment might call for something else.

She watches him ease, draining the passion but also the doubt. She clings instead to his want of her as everything he'll ever need. It's enough for now. Not later – if the scent of their arousal in the air is to be believed – but it is  _for now_.

His hands clasp her vest back into place before slipping one hand to take her wrist. "C'mon, let me take you to town."

She ignores the innuendo he'd managed to slip in. "This a date or is it just work?"

"Let's make it both. I've missed both sides of you." He misses all of her, he means, but he won't say it. Doesn't need to.

"I'd like that." She slips out of his grasp before lacing their fingers together. It is familiar, bold, comforting.

The door shuts behind them.

A figure behind the window vanishes.

**~o~~~~o~**

A stillness permeates in the precinct come nightfall, when the day shifts are over and many have already left, the languid moonlight peers through the windows that rim the high ceiling. There is an echo in it too, reverberating laughter and murmurs of hushed conversation, accompanied by the low hum of Clawhausers earphones playing a hit single on max volume.

It's familiar and welcome, the ghost of a memory thought lost bleeding back into the present. Walking in side-by-side conjures images of different memories, however. Stolen glances and one-off thoughts, curiosities that were innocent and… not-so innocent.

Judy herself is entertaining one such thought.

Nick's tail swishes back and forth, almost teasingly over his taut rear. She doesn't know if he's doing it on purpose – _he probably is, the cheeky fox_ – but she wonders what kind of sound he'll make if she pinches it. He makes some of the most satisfying yips when she scares him, and this might top the rest if she does it hard enough.

So when they enter their joined office – moonlight slipping through the windows, leaving it bright enough to see without the lights – she decides to go in for the kill when he gets to his desk.

The pinch more than makes him yelp, he jumps too. He lands on his desk sideways, limbs regressed towards himself in panic, equal terror on his face as his wide eyes regard her for a second too long as she giggles at his expense, ending as he deadpans. "Well, aren't you a prankster. Getting a little naughty there, eh, Carrots?"

Her lip is lopsided when she calms herself down, eyes drifting steadily to lock on his lips. He expects her to quip, but she never does. Instead she pulls herself closer, taking his cheeks in her hands so she can bite his lower lip.

He obliges, righting himself on his desk as he takes the small her back in one hand whilst propping himself up with the other arm.

Their tongues don't meet – the kiss is over before it gets there – but Judy licks her lips as she pulls away, savoring the taste still fresh on her lightly bruising lip. "I've been wanting to do that all day," she whispers.

He smirks before he hoists her up bodily, she nearly screaming as she's brought beside him, lying down together like they did back in his apartment, in his bed, in each other's ambiguous yet pleasant company.

His hand falls to her cheek. "Silly fox, what are you doing?" she asks as she places her hand over his.

"I don't know what this is, but I like what it lets me do." He shuffles back just an inch, admiring the way her ears cascade along the side of her head, the way her lavender irises glow in the dim light of the languid night. "I want to soak this in. I don't think I'll think of anything else tonight."

"Nick, you'll see me tomorrow," she reasons.

"I'm not sure I can survive being apart for eight hours."

"Needy fox."

"If you stopped spoiling me, maybe I'd learn to hold back every once in a while." He tries to make it sound like he's teasing her but it's too soft, almost honest. But she doesn't misunderstand his intentions. She knows he's just trying to get back into the swing of things and all these genuine attempts at flirting are kind of new to him, since it's been a while since he's done this kind of thing and certainly not with someone he actually wants to be with.

She pats his cheek and pulls herself away from him. "C'mon, Nick, you can at least show me to dinner. Maybe I'll even let you drive my car." She lets her hips sway alluringly with her tail, coaxing him out of his perch and over to her, tugging along a duffle bag with some of their things from somewhere.

There is the faint smell of cheap alcohol wafting off somewhere in the station, but neither of the pair bother to investigate. But judging from some laughter dancing off some shadows on the second floor overlook, it's clearly just some officers trying to enjoy the night.

Right by the front desk, they happen upon the sight of a grey wolf talking animatedly with Clawhauser.

"Terence?" Nick asks as he approaches, looking him up and down, inspecting the ZPD uniform he's wearing.

"Oh, hey!" he greets, looking himself over to dust off his new uniform. "Didn't think I'd see you two today. You weren't at the briefing when the Chief introduced me. We'd all but assumed that you guys took the day off."

A familiar, devious little smile crests Nick's lips. "I'd apologize for not being here but that would be dishonest."

"I can imagine," Terence replies, looking over them both, noting how Judy's arms are wrapped around one of Nick's.

"We just spent a week apart," Judy confesses. "We were out reacquainting."

That last line makes Ben squeal quietly beneath the fists he bundles against his mouth in an attempt to hide his expression. " _Ooh!_  I'm glad you two are back together," he says. "On top of Sam hooking up with the Chief, everything's just turning out perfectly!"

Nick chuckles. "The Chief and Sam, eh? Sounds like I get to ask for a raise."

Terence shakes his head. As much as they've managed to clear an ancient case, it's still too soon, if Nick's being serious. There's still the new murders, and unless that's cleared up, Bogo doesn't look much willing to oblige anyone that isn't Sam. "Maybe if you guys clear out the mess in that apartment, he might just be obliged to do that. I know I would."

"Mess? In an apartment?" Nick asks, staring at him, bewildered.

"Oh, right… you two weren't at the briefing. Well, there's been another set of murders. Sahara Square's own little cross-climate apartment, the Weather Vein, just lost all four residents from a single apartment. Two days fresh, by my estimate, can't have been longer than a week. I've also found that a Billy Caper, a goat living just two doors down, has been missing for almost a week. We've yet to get a warrant but I'm confident we'll find something there."

Nick and Judy spare a glance at each other. Suspicion is etched on their faces, their brains firing on all cylinders another murderous intrigue fuels their senses. They're connected, they know it, both the bar and apartment. Mass murders, no easy give away evidence, if any at all. Someone elusive, subtle…

"Guys," Terence warns, "calm down."

"It's another serial murder," Judy reasons. "We can't let this lie."

"And you can't solve every case while you're low on steam." He looks between them, the thin line of his lips is worrisome, scared even. "We'd love to have you cracking cases again but according to just about everybody… you two aren't all here yet. Now I don't wanna go around making assumptions about your lives, but I've been there, and believe me, you don't want to push you or your partner too hard. If you don't find the time to heal from your pains, you might end up thinking that maybe your relationship is part of the problem. And even though the assumption might end up being wrong, it might have already been too late to save it anyway."

They know he's talking about his relationship with An, but it isn't about bitter remembrance – not a hint of that in his tone anyway – cause it is, instead, a warning. One they should perhaps heed. But the cylinders are still firing, their senses still alight, and Judy has already turned down a potentially major case for the Harriers, and to do it again just the following night? She's not sure she can take it.

Before the atmosphere in the air can tense any further – much to intense anticipation of the silently watching Clawhauser – Lupin St. Claire rounds the corner of the front desk with wide arms greeting them. "Hey! Glad to see the power couple's back and sucking face. You takin' this fox to-go, Judy?" He winks.

Terence's breath hitches as he looks at Lupin incredulously.  _Can't he read the room?_

But Nick is thankful, because Lupin _can_  read the room, and he knows that they need a change of topic.

Judy on the other hand just laughs it off, because she hadn't been thinking of that and… well maybe it's not so bad an idea. Not that they need to know that, that is. "No, no," she says, "I'll just be dropping him off."

Terence is still notably in the dark as he blinks in confusion at how quickly the tension's been diffused.

"So how are things in Bronc Town? With Creed, the station, and all that." Judy asks Terence, much to Lupin's disdain, rubbing his neck in a silent attempt to quell his frustration. This is only going to end poorly.

Terence is hesitant for a moment, words failing him for just long enough to be obvious to even Clawhauser. There is a dreariness still, caught in the fringed edges of his suddenly tired eyes. "Well… Creed's still trying to come to terms with the idea of Marcus being anything but an old friend. The town's reeling but still recovering, though Savory's gone dark and with good reason." He tries for a genuine smile, and though it's a weak sentiment, it still shows well enough for Nick and Judy to relax from the ebbing tension. "On the bright side, Calvary's issued a memorial for the lives lost, and the Autumn Festival went off real well. It's still ongoing but… I'm not in any mood to go back there and drink myself under the table."

Judy can't bring herself to laugh. Something else tugs at her throat, lingering just beneath her skin. "What about the notes we sent you guys? Any insight?"

"Oh! Gizelle's pulling them all together for her new article. It'll get front page for sure and she—"

Nick cuts him off. "Sorry, but that's not what we meant."

He tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"We meant the station," Judy continues, irises wide with the fear billowing beneath the surface. "About how strange Marcus was acting. The way it didn't align with the MO we ended up with."

Terence scratches the back of his head apologetically. "We don't really see it like you guys do. As far as we know, the case is closed. His psychology can't be determined to a tee and all of us would really just like to put it behind us. We can't know every single detail, and we don't _need_  to. We've caught him and – with a case this old – that ought to be enough."

But it isn't enough. How can it be? They'd toiled and suffered for this case and the idea that they should let it go when they're only halfway through the truth almost sounds ludicrous, insulting even. But the same goes for asking them to keep it open just so they can fill a crack that might not even be a problem in the end.

A cold unease ebbs off of Judy's fur, a quiet malign boiling in her heart that sings of a demon so far away. Carrion's curse, that baleful miasma that poisons the air, is still here with them, bloodied hands reaching from the dark, echoing the silent screams of those they failed to save.

It almost makes her choke, labored breaths stifled behind clenched teeth that burn a scalding smile on her face.

She doesn't want to leave this be. Can't. Because the unanswered question tells them there's far more to this case then all that they've glimpsed, begging them to push for it even if it hurts to ask, even if it'll amount to nothing.

Judy feels a warmth in her palm, Nick's hand taking hers. She sees his fragile strength, hand still twitching where his gun should be, but a stoic demeanor softened by a small smile that tells her that he's holding on. And he's clinging to her for strength too, so he'd like it if she tried a little harder to reciprocate.

So she does.

"Then I guess we can call it case closed then," she says, their friends bewildered by the drop in tension. She shakes her head. "Look, we're not happy about it but we get it. We can't spoil the parade just cause we think there might be a kink in it somewhere. It's unfair of us to ask for more, so we'll have to let it go."

Terence blinks at her, his heart sinking there for a moment. He is suddenly reminded that they have every right to ask for more, cause they solved this case when no one else could, they're the reason they're here, today,  _alive,_ when they might not have been otherwise. Everyone he loves owes them a debt of a gratitude, but even now, knowing all this, he still can't summon the strength to reopen that wound. "I'm… I'm sorry it turned out this way."

"Don't be," Nick answers. "Maybe it is better that we just move on already."

Lupin bumps Terence by the shoulder, disrupting the somber mood of the room. "C'mon, Terry, you owe me a drink," he says as he pushes the man away from them.

"Since when?"

"Since  _now._ "

Clawhauser himself feels quite invisible, and would rather it stay that way. So he bids them goodbye as he excuses himself with a bathroom break.

Nick and Judy watch him go, but all they can think about is what's supposed to happen now. The case is closed, the killer behind bars, and their pains are in the past – some of them, at least. So where do they go from here?

Judy walks off wordlessly, Nick following after. And outside, in the darkness of the growing night, where the sea of neon in the horizons seats the stars in the sky, does she finally stop, staring into that abyss above.

She feels herself fall into it, the city vanishing beneath her as a flurry of images, of days passed in that cursed little town, fills her vision instead. She is drowned in the color of the city, suffocating beneath the shallow surface of the stars that feels like an inch out of reach. She wants to breach the surface, leave the woes that burden her still, forget the errant thoughts that still pry apart a case that should already be tucked away and forgotten.

Nick cranes his head over hers, blocking out the city and the world, pulling her back to they can at least suffer together.

His forehead presses against hers. And in his warmth does she close her eyes, letting the tears that never come fill her heart instead, drowning her.

"Come home with me," she whispers. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

**~o~~~~o~**

Being in Nick's apartment doesn't bring her the kind of nostalgia she'd been expecting, cause it actually feels like she's never left.

It's all still here. His cheap sofa, the shoddy jade ceiling fan, his out-of-place marble island counter, that silly expensive old fern, even the scent of the fox all fits into place in her mind. It makes it feel like home, familiar enough to fall back into old patterns.

They cook together – well, he cooks and she guffaws at everything he does – then she cleans the dishes and he equally heckles her. It is a welcome distraction, however brief it might be.

She walks into his living room and the TV is still on, its dim light casting against the upholstery, filling the spaces in the dark room. "A fierce tragedy for us tonight here in Zootopia as Governor Cacri Lau's personal Highway Aries has been found at the bottom of Giant's Crown Mountain," it says to the shadows, static bleeding off the disrupted signal, ruptured by the dark clouds and the coming rain. "Though a body has yet to be found—!"

It flashes before shutting off.

Nick tosses the remote onto the couch. "We can't be everybody's hero. Let's let the rest of the bullpen take it from here," he says, meeting the distilled, pensive glaze of her lavender eyes. She's curious, bothered, uncertain, and a lot of other things. So is he, but he pushes it away. He doesn't want to think about the world outside of these walls. Not yet.

He flops onto his sofa, lounging on it dramatically as he smiles at her, beckoning her to join him.

She approaches his side then lies with her back against his chest. Her expression is still, wordless and static, elation drained from her features. And he can't bring himself to pull her out of it, cause the smile on his face is forced and fractured, slipping beneath his dying bravado.

The city below looks like it it's on fire from here, the bright, almost sickly neon colors blanketing the shapes in a burning rainbow – mostly pink and a pale orange. Her eyes catch the glints of other shades and hues, of passing cars and movements inside towers of glass and concrete that coils into the sky.

She is lost in the sight, wanting nothing more than to drift away into the dream-laden fire, the surreal texture caressing her sensations acting as a buffer to the thoughts that struggle to occupy her beleaguered mind.

He doesn't move as he watches her, wary of the emptiness that she's exhuming, permeating, in the frozen stillness of her frame.

His arm bends up to grasp her shoulder, making her suddenly aware that she hasn't gotten out of her uniform, much less her armor. His fingers brush up from their perch, caressing her neck. She nuzzles into it, seeking warmth, comfort, anything really. She just wants more… of him, and something carnal,  _raw._

She pulls herself up and walks in the direction of his bedroom. "I… need to get changed."

The door doesn't shut behind her, her mind doesn't care much for it, sensibilities elsewhere.

The clasps to her vest loosen in the next moment, falling to her side. Then she stops when she hears his uniform clump at the doorway.

His presence is apparent, maybe even expected, his scent entering the room with him and the light bleeding from the doorway over her, his shadow pulling over her frame, approaching with purpose and – perhaps – want.

His hands fall over her arms. She gasps, as a thrum in her heart billows deep and heavy as his fingers fall into her inner collar, pulling to the side as she undoes the topmost button to help expose her shoulder for him. He kisses her there, dipping warmth into her core as he plucks the kneaded flesh beneath her fur. His other hand finds her breast through thin fabric, squeezing faintly as a gasp escapes her trembling lips.

His claws slowly pull out of his fingers, tracing flames over her moist neck.

Her head tilts towards his shoulder, letting him see her gulping throat and the deep, milky plunge between her breasts. He licks her neck in response, testing her sensitivity, gauging her by shivers and moans that waft from her tender lips before he bites with only the faintest touch of his razor teeth, dangerous yet gentle, featherlight yet undeniably enticing.

Then his right hand moves to her bosom, one claw extending out of his index finger. It falls slowly, his palm only barely touching an erect teat. Then it stops over her topmost button, yet undone. He cranes over her then, pressing her rear into his crotch, her tail tickling his stomach, making him grunt over her shoulder, his very breath sending shivers down her spine. Then his clawed finger tugs on the button, the dangerous edge hovering over her burning skin.

She knows he'll never hurt her, but coming close to it makes her feel things she'll never publically admit.

With a gentle tug the button pops, making her gasp hotly into the open air. Then the claw finds the next, repeating, earning another gasp each time.

_Pop._

The valley of her supple breasts lingers in the pale moonlight.

_Pop._

The bra strap snaps as her chest falls free, still hiding in the folds of her uniform.

_Pop._

His hand falls to her stomach as a clear line of flesh runs down her chest, her bra falling uselessly behind her. His claws slip away as he presses his soft fingers over her pants. His fingers splay over her crotch, dipping between her thighs earning a heatened "Aah!"

His deft hands work her nethers, pressing and teasing in circles before he pulls his hand up to her hem before slipping inside. He begins to snake his hand underneath the fabric, into the drenched lace of her panties and over her wet clit.

She stops him before he can plunge further.

Her hand is over his wrist, tugging his arm up lightly, signaling him to pull away. It's enough to make him come to his senses, enough to quell the burning in his core, to let her go as she moves away from him.

He is bewildered and horny, much too excited to stop now but he does it for her, lets his libido subside... but she doesn't want that.

She moves over to the bed, looking over her shoulder to see him. Her fingers are trembling as they grasp the folds of her exposed top. She can see the lust in his eyes, the want that makes him ache and the desperation of something else caught in the fear hiding behind it. It is the same that is in her. Screaming and aching, begging for some relief with the plague still poisoning their souls. Something that tells them that everything is wrong, everything is crazy, everything is frustrating, and evil, and  _terrifying_... everything but  _this._

Then she lets her uniform fall off her shoulders, exposing her back to him. She doesn't say a word but she doesn't need to.

He is behind her in the next moment, but all he does is undo her belt before turning her around to see that he's already discarded his pants.

She does not know what look she gives him when their eyes finally meet. Perhaps it is fear, anxiety, or worse. Or perhaps it is love, or lust, or some obscure combination of the two. She doesn't know, and doesn't care, especially when – whatever it is – causes him to press against her, their tongues meeting only a moment after their lips.

She breathes him in, takes his scent and the smell of sex he accompanies, with an excitement that is both enticing and terrifying all at the same time. Their kiss ambles them toward the bed, letting him seat her before they pull back for air.

He slowly slips off her pants and the enticing little lace beneath, inhaling her musk audibly which makes her blush.

She's exposed as he presses his snout to her clit, familiarizing the scent, committing it to memory, remembering why he knows it, and how it makes him feel. His wet nose tickles her and would have made her giggle had his tongue not followed shortly after.

She tastes salty, bitter in only the faintest of ways, not like those lurid fantasies most first-timers would describe. But it is a taste that is all her, mixed with the alluring visage abound her sounds and smells, turning the salt sweet, making him crave more and more till his mind forgets consciousness and restraint.

His tongue slips in then, parting her nether lips, making her groan. her insides taste no different, but it tastes of more, between the walls and over her bead, making her moan, prompting her to press a desperate palm at the back of his head, pulling him impossibly deeper as she screams to the heavens that he keep going.

The length of his tongue writhes between her walls as its base folds over her exposed bead in a wealth of immediate sensations. His teeth cages her lower lips, scraping lightly as her hips begin to buck into his ministrations.

Just like before, drenched in the haze of her own wanton heat. His tongue is so much better than his fingers, the contrast is almost incomparable as the heat radiating off his own breath tickles her clitoris along with the slow lapping of his coiling tongue.

But there's more.

She looks down at him, watching the way his eyes turn predatory behind the ebb and sway of her rolling hips, furthered by the way their locked eyes only fuel his animalistic resolve, hands moving to brush against her lower cheeks – eliciting another host of sensations in her – before one falls to her belly while the other reaches to clasp over a breast.

He's slower now but he moves with longer strokes, meeting her hips at two thrusts to one, but then she slows with his movements too, meeting his every push as his tongue stops folding over her clit. He pulls his head back – eyes still locked to hers – as one of his thumbs rubs her bead while his long tongue straightens but stays mostly inside of her.

Her grip on his head loosens, one hand falling to her forehead as she inhales deeply while the other falls to the bridge of his snout that rests just over her stomach. But she doesn't dare break eye contact, doesn't want to lose sight of his raw lust rumbling down the full sight of his growling throat, doesn't want to miss what he plans.

Then he pushes inward, his tongue vanishing beneath her slit as the wet slender length presses then bunches at the entrance of her womb. It's sudden yet needful, a release rocking her as she orgasms into his waiting tongue, lapping up her juices as his eyes never leave her.

He isn't done. Can't be. Not until they're spent. Not until the world vanishes beneath their haze of raw musk and scalding heat. Not until they force themselves out of their miserable little stupor. Not until they know what this is.

His tongue slips out of her, pulling up so its full length traces the top of her vulva and tastes her clitoris with every inch of him.

She watches him swallow the last of her juices before they push back to the end of the bed, head resting on the pillows as his shadow looms over her.

To her he is a daunting figure, cast against her as her stoic protectorate, lending her his strength when hers is all but gone – but never before, knowing the strength in her is plentiful and steely, knowing to stand  _beside_  her instead. A companion, a partner, a singularity that voids her sorrows in the tender warmth of his fur. And he is hers in this moment as her fingers dip over every gap between the thickness of his lean abs, committing its shape to memory in the darkness.

To him she is bottled lightning, energy and determination bleeding life and electricity through the world around her. She is a painter in those moments of outward exposure, coloring the greys and tints of an otherwise dim and loveless world. And she does so again beneath him as the moonlight caresses the soft edges of her gray and white fur, coalescing as her lavender irises glint brightly.

To him she is lifeblood and his last gasp. She is necessary, vital, everything that makes him important and real. And even though she'll never let him say it, he feels undeniably that he could never be the same person without her.

His head comes down to capture her in another kiss, her nibbling at his lower lip, clenching over it for another moment as he pries himself away.

His erection, full and throbbing, lines up to her waiting entrance, prodding the spearhead into her pliable lips. A deep growl billows in his throat, the stillness of his rod pressing into her, accompanied by throaty gasps rumbling passed her trembling lips.

Every breathtaking inch feeds into her, and even when she thinks he's already done, she finds out that he's still going. He fills her entirely, her walls stretching ever so slightly to accommodate him, and she shudders at the thought of what his spunk will feel like sloshing alongside her mostly filled snatch. The thrums in her heart go in synch with their joined breaths, mixing in the space between, coalescing their heat, breath, and musk, washing over them like an invisible mist.

But then he hilts her, the length of his meat throbbing between her petite, compact sex. And yet, even in the throes of passion, there is a moment of hesitation as he stares at her, evident fear behind his clear ambivalence.

One of her fists balls onto her bosom while the other – far more adventurous and far more needy – clings to the back of his neck, pulling him down so she can whisper hotly in his ear. " _Love me till it hurts._ "

He doesn't remember if he'd told her the line, or if maybe he'd misheard, but the invitation is clear, quelling his apprehensions. He withdraws in response, then plunging back in with enough of himself to make her squirm but not enough to unsteady his pace.

She whimpers as he pounds into her, his knot slapping against her thighs with a meaty thud, his rhythm and their breath drowning out any other sound.

Judy looks down him to see the sheen of his exposed shaft in the light, its sheer length meant for a vixen, but is plowing her instead. But it isn't out of place.

Her hand reaches out to feel the bulge that stretches her insides, and when she feels it running underneath her delicate touch, she becomes entirely aware of the electricity she feels rippling from it and through her. Enough to love, not enough to hurt. Not yet, at least, but she's certain she'll still like it anyway.

She feels wave after wave of raw pleasure pulsating through her, but her carnal desires beg for more. Her hand ventures further south of the bulge trailing across her skin to stop at the top of her slit, finding the delicate bead he'd tended to earlier. She rubs it slowly at first, not wanting to overwhelm herself too soon, despite the deep jolts she's getting from his constant plunging into her swelling depths. Then her own ministrations match his intensity, meeting his hips with another vigorous circle of her own clit.

Her mind is suddenly consumed in the heat radiating off their conjoined sex. Even her legs agree, rising up to trap his waist beneath it, urging him with a sensual tug, which he returns with explosive vigor. He shortens his thrusts, quickening them instead as her mind slowly blanks from all the sensations. And he can see it, witness to her oncoming climax that he's been nursing to some eruptive fashion, wanting her to release with nary a thought, to come with all the abandon they've been seeking these past few arduous weeks.

His hands then hungrily seek out the rest of her, falling to her breasts to twist and knead them, slow enough to be torturous. Then his mouth falls to her neck once more, licking her collarbone before nibbling at her nape, searching for just the right spot by gauging her by the pitch of her moans.

She no longer has the faculties to rub herself, deciding instead to clasp at his shoulders to steady against him, but the minute her hand leaves her clit, one of his own leaves her breasts to take its place. And now suddenly the burning in her loins feels like a dam ready to burst, no longer holding back as she hoists herself from the bed to cling desperately at his hips with her own needy thrusts, wanting nothing more than to coat his silky red cock with her own juices.

The tension rises in her body, the tempo of her thrusts slowing to a halt as she arcs her back, her body shuddering with the overwhelming release. Her moan is deep and loud, shaking her down to her core as she clenches and spurts again and again over his still rock solid rod.

He rides out her climax with a clamp of his teeth at the open air, not wanting to hurt her. But she has different ideas, as her own maw closes over his nape.

She leaves a hickey there when she releases him, her body almost ready to collapse, but it doesn't. She comes to her senses quickly as her arousal slowly ebbs away, and it's all too clear why he hasn't softened yet.

Her hands take his snout, pulling his face down to look at her with those emerald eyes of his. And those same emeralds are cracked and shaking, filled with restraint to not hurt her and pain from holding back his own orgasm.

With the last bit of her strength, she hoists her legs up to urge him on again with another tug. But this one isn't gentle. It's needy, raw, her whole body rubbing up against him to coax him out of his last inhibitions so he can finally take her like a fox looking to mate should. Cause vulpines can't cum without their knots inside, and he'd been too afraid of spreading her with it.

So she tugs again, even if she's sore and numb, cause she can't leave him like this. Can't. Won't.

He lurches into her over and over again but never far enough. And it frustrates her cause she can hear his grunting, and knows it's laced with pain.

Her strength falls to her legs, clamping down at him again, long enough to keep his hips steady without any room to pull back and plough her. And here does she squeeze into him, trying to spread her own nether lips to take all of him.

Then he takes her rear with both hands and finally pushes all the way in with the soft plop of his plunged knot.

She screams, the last bit of pleasure breaching the lack of feeling in her legs in what seems like another orgasm, and she swears she can sense the tip of him entering her cervix.

And he sighs, the pressure in his loins emptying into her, filling all the available spaces. He can't help but thrust just a little more inside her, tongue lolling out as their mixed cum remains trapped beneath the dam of his knot.

The sense of wafting alacrity joins them as they take the fullness of each other into their remaining faculties.

He's elated. Though the sight of his fangs take a dangerous edge to them, it is lost when it's clear that it's rimmed with a goofy smile that is then proud and equal parts mischievous, which looms over her like a gentle cage, dipped with the shades of burning autumn furs that hide the rippling strength beneath them.

She giggles when she touches his cheek, balling a hand to her bosom again as she tilts her gaze at him, admiration glinting eagerly in her eyes.

She seems to glow then, her fur turning silver with the gentle rays through the window, weaving into a diadem around her relaxed ears down to her clever little smirk like an ashen veil. It cascades to her broad hips, an impossible curvature to it that he can take fully in his hands, trace the outlines of years in training, and minutes around him.

It might've just been sex, but Nick knows he doesn't want it to have just been that. He works himself into wanting more out of it, but he knows why he'd entered this room in the first place, knows that desperate need for comfort that coaxed him out of the sofa and after her as she changed.

But it hadn't been the crushing anxiety that told him to hold back and let her forget the world. It hadn't told him to coax her into sheer bliss. Hadn't told him she'd given her aching self freely to him so he might join her in that same ecstasy.

Making love to Nick for the first time had been imperfect, Judy admits to herself, the uncomfortable soreness is evidence of that, even if the sensations before that were  _anything_ but flawed. She might even end up walking funny if she doesn't heal in the morning, though she can't bring herself to feel bad about it.

And honestly, since he's still pumping into her, she can maybe even work herself into a third (maybe fourth) orgasm with all the fresh heat that keeps spilling inside her womb.

Her hand caresses her stomach, feeling him deep inside her still, reveling in the afterglow. "Keep this up and we might break the laws of nature," she says, chest still rising with her labored breath.

Nick, with more energy than he'd been expecting to still have, rests his elbows at her sides instead of collapsing beside her, positioning his forehead to press against hers. "Wait till you're in heat," he breathes unsteadily, a hint of laughter playing at his lips, "I'll show nature what for."

"Already eager for kits, are we?" she teases, running her hands through the fur on his neck up to his snout.

His hands caress the base of her ears as he shuts his eyes, electing to feel the mess he's made of her instead of looking at it. "Anything you want, Carrots."

She bites her lip and laughs, her breath wafting over his snout. "Watch yourself. That's a dangerous thing to tell a girl in heat."

"I'm willing and able," he says proudly against her neck. "Just let me get more practice in then. I'll need to be ready for when you eventually break my pelvis."

She snorts. "You  _propositioning_ me, Wilde?"

"Only cause you're offering."

He pulls away, eyes half-lidded as he decides to kiss her again, and again, and again. Until she playfully pushes him away to stop. "Calm down, Nick," she giggles. "I get it, you like me. I don't think you can press that point any further."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm currently still pumping you with baby batter. I think I'm well passed that point, Carrots."

She yelps when she feels a particularly hot spurt shoot into her.

He panics when he thinks something else is scaring her.

Then she quietly pats his cheek to calm him down, letting him know she's fine.

He figures she's a little uncomfortable so he tries to get up but he can only manage an awkward and mildly painful kneeling position as she lies flat on her back. She sees the way he winces so she pulls up to press against his chest, much to his relief, but her hips twitch uncomfortably so he falls back into bed with her lying on top of him instead. "Better?"

She nods.

Judy almost yelps at another rope of hot sperm sloshing in her womb, a hand pressed to her mouth as she pulls up her stomach on shaky legs to eye down their conjoined hips.

Nick takes this chance to glance down at his cock vanishing between her thighs, his rod still emptying into her like a detached organ, acting regardless of his own arousal or hereby lack of which.

She meets his eyes as the weakness in her legs make her buckle then collapse onto him. "I think this is as close to that magical first-time-together cliché as we're gonna get," she comments crossing her arms under her chin and over his chest. "How long are we going to be attached like this anyway?"

"A while, I guess."

"You tired?" she asks.

His lip tilts apologetically. "Not really."

"Me neither," she replies, relieved.

He places a hand on her back, feeling the bare curvature of her lithe waist fill the length of his palm. It's quiet and surreal, maybe even romantic, but it's nothing like he'd heard it'd be. "Isn't this supposed to be the part where we pass out _lovingly_  in each other's arms?" he drolls.

"I don't think the clichés accounted for the knot, and the fact that it's… what, ten PM? I'm wide awake right now and the heat down there isn't making trying to sleep easy." The two of them can already endure long on-foot chases, a trip through a rapid sewer system down a waterfall then onto shore, and even survive a train crash without so much as stopping for a spell of breath. Sex is by no means any more troublesome, and so they lie together, barely exhausted and still painfully awake, if a little sore.

"Hey," he says suddenly, sitting up and holding her to his chest, "let's take a bath in the tub."

She thinks it's funny that he can carry her like this, and that he isn't really bothered by the prospect at all. "Best suggestion I've heard all day."

He raises a brow with a bemused smile. "Better than this?" he punctuates, by jostling her against him, eliciting a surprised gasp from her.

She flicks his snout in response, matching the curve of his lips. She lays a hand on her belly. "What we did was a long time coming." She meets his gaze once more, smiling sweetly before plucking a kiss from his lips. "It never needed suggesting."

He takes them to the tub so they can clean up, and the warm water seems to meld away the heady sensations playing below their waists.

And as they wash each other, she tells him about her twin and his loving wife, of a family far away with a quiet story all of their own.

When they dry out the suds, he tells her about his " _anonymous_ " fennec friend whose name he helped clear and how ridiculous he looked while doing it as a temporary meter maid.

They lie there when they talk about breakfast plans in the morning and lunch plans at a new restaurant downtown, not even noticing that he'd long since receded from being inside of her.

By the time they're out, dried, and clothed, they cuddle in bed, talking about their bet back in Bronc Town. They call it a draw and agree that they'll meet their parents together.

Nick will dress up all domestic like and endure the awkwardness of separated parents in the same room, and Judy will lie about being Nick's girlfriend to her own folks… before suggesting that maybe she doesn't have to lie anymore.

They fade into their melding warmth, the swaying valleys of their pressed fur rippling with their breaths, mingling her silver tufts with his autumn-kissed chest. He cradles her like rough, molten earth glowing warm colors despite the pitch black that overcomes the night, and her at his center, the precious ore that might be hardier than its shell but shyly weans its way into him anyway.

**~o~~~~o~**

It's two AM when Nick wakes up. He doesn't know why but there's a fragment of a dream lost in the haze of his mind, a troublesome flash in the distance and the memory of a throbbing at the back of his head. He doesn't yet have the faculties to put two and two together.

He curls out of Judy who is clasping at his chest, a disappointed whine slipping through her teeth in protest to the vanishing warmth. He squeezes her hand in a frail attempt to ease her, but she curls up beneath the blanket instead.

The haze of the morning that comes too early dampens the wavering strength in his muscles, carrying his footfalls through the silence of the room in a languid gait, mind elsewhere as he presses on toward a familiar path.

Before he knows it, he's clasping at his porcelain sink and splashing water in his face.

He inspects his bruised lip and chuckles. "Last night really happened, huh?" he muses before rubbing at his eyes. "No turning back now."

Judy stirs awake when she feels a weight press over her.

There is a heat in the air. It's strong like the edges of flame, flush, bold, everywhere at once. And in her haze does she dream it might be summer in a valley or she's standing too close to a bonfire.

And there's something else. A coiling in her gut that she can't quite place. Something's missing and she tries to reach out for it but her hands only close over the blanket.

She sniffs when she trickles her senses back into cohesion, the smell of the faint musk still wafting through the open air. But there is also another scent, it is familiar but out of place.

She hazards a guess. "Nick?"

The breath that tickles her nose is minted but strange, sending a cold shiver down her spine that tells her to wake up.

_That night you reported—_

_Yes. That's when it happened._

"'Fraid not, darlin'," comes the haunting voice of Marshal Hector, causing a terror that nearly rips from her throat but is muffled in the sudden invasion of his palm trapping her small mouth. She tries to struggle out from underneath him but he's putting too much pressure on her body. She'd only just gotten the feeling back in her legs and now she might lose it again.

She mumbles angrily against his hand, even trying to bite at his palm, but he's unfazed and he too quickly flexes his hand to pull just out of her teeth's reach. Her struggles cease when she feels a blade press to her neck, its silvery sheen glinting in her periphery, reflecting the fear in her eyes.

Suddenly she's back in that town again, the dread washing over her as she stares back at the once innocuous eyes of a baker's son, and sees the monster that has long since lingered beneath instead, crowning his terrible visage.

Then she hears Nick enter the room slowly, his green eyes glowing in the dark. His pupils are slits, furious and barely contained, accompanied with the coal-black surface of his pistol rising from the gap in the door. He levels it quietly, footsteps barely loud enough for even her to hear.

She about shuts her lids to prepare for the oncoming splatter, but then she catches the sideways glance Marshal's making. He's alert but doesn't move in a way that Nick might see. Even with the advantage of Nick's night vision, Marshal still manages to maneuver his body without detection.

She realizes that the blade at her neck is no longer being held, that hand clutching the sheets instead. And his other hand has gone from muffling her to full on clasping her cheeks.

He's planning something, she knows it, and she even tries to scream loud enough to maybe warn Nick, but in an instant… Marshal moves, then she screams as she hurtles through the air.

The blanket is tossed towards Nick, blocking his vision. He can't fire, not on the off chance Marshal is using Judy as a shield, but then she is plunged into the comforter mid-air. He reacts quickly, dropping his gun and holding out his arms to catch her. He does so clumsily, falling onto his back with a dull thud.

The pain in her back goes ignored as she scrambles up and helps Nick to his feet.

For a moment their panic subsides as neither of them are clearly harmed, but the immediate danger in the room is made apparent as when they hear a loud stomp crush bits of metal and polymer.

Marshal stands before them with his foot over the remains of Nick's weapon. In his ready hand is the same ceremonial dagger they'd returned to him back in Bronc Town, the once dull edge now sharp and gleaming. But the man wielding it is nothing like they'd imagined.

"A pity," he says, "and here I heard you were gettin' good at shootin'."

"You were watching me," Nick states rather than asks. A baleful grin is his only response.

There is none of the malice they'd thought they'd find, because it is not vengeance that clings to his daunting presence… it is  _joy,_  elation, a sense of wonder and self-certainty as he rolls the dagger in his hand with practiced ease. And there is a relief in there somewhere, laced into his even breathing, as if he'd done this a thousand times, as if where he stands – poised to kill someone under undetected trespass – is his most natural place in the world. "Let it sink in," Marshal suggests, his body relaxed and imposing as even his slightest movements set them on edge. "World's just a whisper away, but it's trapped behind me. Ya' can't escape.  _Won't_ even. Cause ya'll know what happens if ya manage t' elude me…"

_He wanted to revel in that familiar fear so he could relish in it, taste the fruits of his labor, so he let us talk. All that dread, pain, and panic, everything he'd caused, his orchestra of madness and madmen. He wanted the pay-off of it all, right out of the people he duped to get it. Cause we got close, and he wanted us to realize how close we'd gotten before he could cut us off just shy of the finish line._

"You're Carrion," Judy comments, realization hitting her like a freight train as all the pieces come together. "Another one… You were taking after him."

Nick fathoms its dark implications, knowing the pains he himself had suffered as a child. But this? What madness had to be bred into him to brand a young soul with such malign? "You knew back then, didn't you? You grew up with it, treated it like it was normal."

But Marcus was a good man underneath. It's clear now more than ever that his own son is nothing like him. Because unlike Marcus, the cold visage of a killer is _not_  the façade, but the gentle mien of a baker  _is._  "You had to hide behind a mask," Nick says, "even as a child."

Judy is filled with more and more disbelief, the walls in her lungs shrinking, her head throbbing, struggling to contain the sheer overflow of answers filling the holes in their case. "Marcus stopped because he wanted you to have a normal life," she says, voice tinged with something baleful and sour, "but when you followed in his footsteps… That's why he was acting with such sadism. He needed to be the monster  _you_ were becoming… all so he could take the blame. So he could give you one last chance to walk away from this life..."  _And you threw that chance away._

The revelations only widen his grin, coiling into his breath as he laughs grimly but quietly. And yet the low laughter fills the spaces, like a miasma ebbing through the silken strands of silver moonlight, highlighting his menacing features. But he takes no steps further, wanting still to relish in his handiwork. "Ya'll are smarter than Pa thought you were. And that's sayin' somethin', seein' as he never had a poor opinion of either o' ya. But it's too late fer that wit t' save ya. Ya'll know why I'm here, don't'cha? It ain't about revenge, Pa chose that path fer 'imself. If anythin' I'm here t' thank ya fer puttin' my  _only_ restraint behind bars." He takes a step forward.

_It wasn't about revenge. He'd have killed us in bed if that was the case. And it wasn't just about mocking us either. He wanted to see how much we really knew. And when we spoke, we all but confirmed that we were just figuring it out right there and then, and that no one else knew that it was him all along._

_That was our mistake. Cause that was evidently all the confirmation he needed to put us down right there and then._

The fury in Nick's heart has long since passed into fear, and yet some still lingers in the tips of his fingers, claws retracting "Don't do this, Marshal. Don't become your father."

"Oh, I'm not." He kicks backwards, causing the lamp there to topple over to his hand. "I'm  _worse._ " He flings it at Judy, and already he's barreling to them.

Nick, predictably, tackles her out of the way, his instincts to protect her flaring even though she could have very well taken care of herself.

The lamp misses but only before Marshal is already upon them. Trapped in his arms, Judy can only scream for Nick as the daggers descends over them.

Nick twists to catch the blade by slamming his wrists against Marshal's, releasing Judy in the process. But Marshal doesn't waste his time, with Nick's struggling, deciding to stomp on Nick's hip as he's over him.

Judy retaliates by slamming her shoulder into his face, making the pig reel. He's nowhere near as heavy as his father, but he's ruthless in a different way, not a single iota of restraint in him left, and it shows when he recovers quickly and charges back into them.

He swipes at Judy who jumps back beside Nick. He follows up towards the fox but Nick presses forward and catches his wrist and his fist overhead. Judy slides in then and delivers a powerful kick to Marshal's knee.

He buckles, almost losing his pressure on Nick, but he endures it, grinning down at the panicked bunny who only narrowly avoids his stomping foot. He takes another step and releases one hand from the dagger to punch Nick square in the chest. Another lands on his gut, making him choke, pain lancing through his body, trying to curl into itself but he doesn't let go of the overhead blade which – for a brief and terrifying moment – taps the top of his head.

Judy recovers, witnessing the attack. Panic tries to seep into her but she doesn't rush in. Can't. Not unless she has a plan. Her eyes scan quickly, and at her feet is the same discarded blanket from earlier. And she dares to hope it's enough.

Marshal sees her quickly when she rushes in, so he panics, loosening his grip just long enough for Nick to let go suddenly, making Marshal stumble as his hands fall free to nearly plow through the wooden floor.

Judy tosses the clump of cloth at his face, folding over his head like a wide sack. He slashes at nothing in response and Judy capitalizes on the opening by kicking his face to the side.

He stumbles again, but they don't let him recover. Nick lands two hooks before taking his claws out to scratch at his face but Marshal lashes out again, slicing his open palm, causing Nick to hiss in pain as he backs away.

Judy tries to keep up the pressure but the cloth is tossed across the room in the next instant.

He's irate now, clutching his dagger with a frustration that ebbs off the sweat and boils the blood that trickles down his cheek. He wipes it with his sleeve across his mouth, and when the hand lowers, he smiles when it's clear that neither Nick nor Judy want to make the next move.

_His father was an imposing beast of a man. A level of speed and raw power that feels ill-fitting on a man of his stature. But Marshal was different. He was hardier, tactile, watched us with an ever-growing understanding of how we fought, and how we moved. Marcus took his time analyzing his targets from afar, but Marshal was more visceral, more active. He wanted to learn as he fought, and he learned quick. Even our hesitations during that fight told us that he was scrutinizing our every move._

_And when we stood there to catch our breath, he knew that despite our vigorous retaliation and all our bravado, we were still afraid. It didn't need to show on our faces._

The same trick isn't going to work twice, they know that. So they have to keep coming up with ideas. Need to keep catching him off-guard. So when Nick puts his hand behind him, Judy understands just what trick he wants them to try.

Judy shifts behind Nick, making her difficult to see. Marshal's menacing expression turns cautious at this, but the scowl at his face tells them that he'll try to lash out at them anyway. Because he's angry and not quite as collected as he could be.

Nick streamlines his body, trying his best to use his lean form to mask the lithe lines of Judy's frame. They move together, rushing Marshal who is poised and ready.

He entirely expects Nick to lunge at his midriff with his claws at the ready, but he doesn't expect Judy to suddenly leap over her partner and drop kick him in the chest. He's pushed back with surprising force, nearly knocking him off his feet but causing him to drop his weapon.

Nick then hops over Judy with a sideways crescent kick that lands on the side of Marshal's face. When Nick lands, he crouches then straightens his back so Judy can slide over it with another straight kick surging into Marshal's side.

He slams into the ground through the open doorway in a skid, quickly rolling back up as any pain he's experiencing fades away in his mounting adrenaline.

Nick steps ahead of Judy, bearing his claws as he growls, eyes turning to slits. Judy beside him finds the embedded dagger on the floor, and promptly stomps on the handle, snapping the weapon in half.

They're trying to intimidate him, and with his weapon out of the way, they might have a fighting chance since they don't have to dance around it anymore. But any hopes of an advantage fades away when Marshal matches their sharp expressions with one of his own as he produces his personal hunting knife from the rear hem of his pants.

Since they're in the living room, Judy decides to circle Marshal to the right as Nick makes a steady approach, the fox's eyes never leaving the pig's.

Marshal sets the knife in his left hand, carefully pointing it in Judy's direction as his attention fixes mostly on Nick.

Judy notes the ease of his grip, watching the way it shifts and flicks when he circles them too.  _He's ambidextrous,_ she realizes, ruining her plan to get Nick to strike at his off-hand side. She hopes Nick comes to the same conclusion, but he might not.

She knows Nick's frustration will likely encourage him to make the next move, and that might be fatal. So she needs to make one herself.

Marshal maneuvers behind the sofa and stops when the glass wall is at his back, and this makes Nick cautious, cause a lunge might end with him tumbling down the building. That moment of caution brings him back some of his own faculties, but the racing in his heart and the slit of his eyes don't leave, holding him in a predatory stance that tells him that he can't let his guard down.

Judy then spies the duffle bag Nick brought in from earlier resting against the sofa. She inches towards it, shifting behind Nick her body tenses and shifts between the two men.

The moment Marshal takes his eyes off her, she dives into the back of the sofa. This makes the pig flinch, and he tries to go after her but Nick doesn't let him get far as he leaps onto the backrest then slashes in his direction.

Marshal takes the cut along his defensive arm and returns it with a jab of his right, but Nick retreats from the follow-up knife.

Judy then emerges from the back with her air-powered tranquilizer from the duffle bag and a smirk on her face.

She fires but he blocks with a cushion from the sofa. His anger is apparent then, chasing desperately after her as she attempts to load another dart as she backs away.

When he leaps over the sofa, Nick tackles him into its back.

He lands a headbutt, and then a second, and then a third, but Marshal is too resilient. He fist clocks Nick by the side of his head, stunning him just long enough for Marshal to clasp his knife at the tips of his fingers so he can toss it at her.

She yelps but sees it coming, giving her time to dodge to her side whilst firing a hasty shot at him.

Marshal ducks below the dart before pushing Nick away then kicking him off his feet.

She tries to load up another shot but Marshal takes this moment to retreat to the kitchen.

Judy barely has a chance to catch her breath. It isn't much too tiring but it's stressful and tense, and she can't tell if they're winning or not. And judging by the way Nick clutches his gut and the way her back is still aching from being tossed bodily into her partner, things might not be too good for them.

But she clings to hope, wanting nothing more than to put down the serial killer waiting for them in the next room.

Nick takes a moment to eye the tranquilizer in his partner's grasp. It's a solution, one that's non-lethal, one that's familiar. It might not be enough. Hell, it might not even work on him, but he finds some ease in the idea of it anyway, an option that tells him it doesn't have to end so gravely.

But then Nick glances back at the front door. Perhaps it doesn't have to come to even that. There's an escape just a scant few feet away, and he almost considers taking it but… he knows he can't. Leaving now will only let Marshal get away, and it isn't like the rest of the police can get here in time. But fear makes him consider the option anyway.

_We wanted to believe that escaping was a viable option but we couldn't… shouldn't._

_Marshal was unrelenting. If he'd managed to escape, we had no doubt that he'd have just continued killing until he cornered us again. And we'd already let too many people die by letting him elude us in the first place. We'd come to the conclusion that at least some of the recent murders were by his hand, and we weren't willing to let another mountain of bodies bear down on us._

_That was brave of you both._

Nick runs into the kitchen, hands balling feverishly as he pushes away from the door. Heart pounding, teeth bare, going against every instinct screaming for him to turn back.

_It wasn't bravery, Gizelle. We were stubborn… angry._

Judy follows after, even bounding passed him as the sound of her footsteps echo loudly in her ear, headlong into her own likely death in a desperate play to end this nightmare.

_Smarter people would have not taken their chances and just left, right out that door into safety. But we stayed, and if we had died fighting him, then no one would have ever caught him._

They see Marshal slide over the island counter, and duck out of their sight. They know he's waiting for them, they know he's desperate, and they know he's likely armed himself again but they don't care.

_We just didn't want to fail them again. We didn't want to let him get away. We didn't want to feel helpless and scared, desperate and_ _**trapped!** _

There is no hesitation when Nick goes around the counter as Judy mounts it, poised to take him out together, the very fury burning in their bones roaring as they are filled with more adrenaline than they ever have before.

_We were done cowering behind each other. We were done letting him win, even in our minds._

Marshal lunges at Judy over the counter, taking her to the floor and discarding her weapon, but she doesn't let it stop her even though her legs are injured on impact with the floor and it hurts to fight back. She kicks his chest and claws at his eyes, even as he raises a cleaver and struggles to see past her assault.

_It was our case, our job. We swore an oath to see it through. To end that nightmare, cut it down where it stood._

Nick tackles him off her, but he doesn't slow down as he lifts Marshal off his feet. Every ounce of his strength is pooled into his arms, carrying the serial killer across the room and up against the oven.

_That cross was ours to bare. And we would sooner die then let someone else bare that burden for us._

Marshal slashes at Nick but he pulls back, but the cleaver slices through part of his ear. He grits his teeth and perseveres despite the biting pain as he slams his head against his – forcing Marshal to drop his weapon in his daze – and pushes with his entire body to keep the man pinned.

Marshal's elbows slam against Nick's back, his body teetering off the edge of collapse as he coughs blood and grunts despite himself.

Judy scrambles for the tranquilizer, only to find that it's shattered on impact with the floor. So she takes the dart instead, stumbling after them and manages a sprint anyway.

Nick hears her coming and tenses his body to keep at it a little longer, even when his arms feel stiff and frozen, even when he can't feel his back anymore, even when his body feels another painful ripple rocket through his muscles and sinks like acid into his bones.

Judy mounts Nick's shoulder even when her legs feel like they could break at any moment. She bodily withstands Marshal's fist that slams into her skull, even when her senses seem to fail her and her body begs for her to surrender.

Marshal's other hand tries to grab her but Nick screams and pulls out one arm to slam an elbow into the man's wrist.

Hoping the momentum is enough to trigger it, Judy swings the dart into Marshal's neck, screaming as the motion lances agony through her arm.

Marshal screams weakly when his senses dull and his body goes slack.

Nick falls back as his entire body aches. Judy collapses beside him, feeling numb from her neck down.

But even when they can no longer feel their bodies, even when air struggles to pour out of their lungs, even when their very bones hold them down like cages, they still manage to get up and drag themselves out to call for help.

**~o~~~~o~**

"It didn't help that our phones were smashed," Nick says with barely concealed disdain. "Bastard thought of everything. Had to drag ourselves out of the apartment to get help. It came after we passed out."

Judy massages her temples, easing the phantom pain of that once powerful headache out of her memory. "Well, when  _he_ passed out," she says, "I stayed up long enough for Ben to arrive and get the paramedics to get us on stretchers. Last thing I saw was Marshal being hauled out of our door."

Nick leans forward, eying the floor as he tries to recollect. "Memories after that are a bit of a blur." Judy nods in agreement. "Not even sure I woke up in the hospital at any point. But I  _do_ remember waking up in my own bed."

Judy sighs with a roll of her eyes. "He mumbled 'take me home' when I tried to wake him up. Had to get some of our friends to carry him out, cradled like a fragile bride," she teases.

Nicks shrugs smugly. "I had it easy. Kinda deserved it too." He points to his ears that shoot up, showing the carved chunk out of his ear from the cleaver. "I think it adds character."

"A little too edgy for my tastes," Judy comments, feigning an aghast look at it.

He wiggles his ears independently. "Admit it, you think it's  _sexy. Dangerous._ " He gestures dramatically.

She turns to Gizelle. "I really don't."

They talk between themselves then, spending a few minutes dissolving into a playful back and forth. And this sets Gizelle at ease. They'd been so miserable when this whole interview began. But it ending like this without her having to steer the conversation into a distraction? It's a weight off her shoulders that she's grateful to have lost, given their clear sense of empathy.

She knows going through that whole retelling is incredibly hard. And bringing up that she knew about the cannibalism certainly didn't help in easing their tensions… and yet somehow it had in the end. They just… talked about it then moved passed it, like it is certainly something that _happened_ but is ultimately not all that important.

Nick and Judy seem to intimately know about the apprehensions writhing inside of her, as if they relate to that kind of internal struggle that goes into tackling something so monumental and terrifying and… she suddenly feels very silly for not realizing why they understand her so well.

And when she laughs quietly to herself, she realizes that they've been staring with a bemused look on her face. "W-why are you staring?"

"You looked happy," Judy says, beaming.

"Thinkin' about a certain wolf?" Nick leers at her suggestively, and the fact that he actually looks attractive while doing that only stacks onto her embarrassment.

"Oh my gosh, no…" She tries to say it above a whisper but her voice won't let her, shrinking before as she attempts to hide nervously in her own golden locks. "I hadn't thought of him all day until just now…"

They look to each other then back at her. "We mentioned him during the interview."

"I… I tried to ignore that part." She can't shrink any further, and she even refuses to as she shakes her head vigorously, tossing her slick blonde hair to dance with her internal frustrations. "Mmph! How did you two even do it?"

"Do what, exactly?" Judy asks in genuine confusion.

"This!" She gestures to them. "You two are so easy-going with each other, even before all this drama even started.  _Meanwhile,_  I can hardly string together a normal sentence with him anymore! Ugh! You two didn't even care about dating until a few months ago! And yet here you are, flirting up a storm and about ready to run away to Foxglove on a romantic weekend."

"Zel," Judy says softly, trying not to giggle, "we're just going to see his dad. Maybe his mom too if she can show up."

"Meeting  _parents!_ " she announces in abject horror. "That's still leagues beyond me!"

When her hands finally pull away from her face, she realizes that her recorder is still running, emphasized by Nick who nudges it in her direction with a satisfied grin.

She quickly shuts it off. "I'm sorry. That was… unprofessional."

"Think nothing of it," Nick waves a hand dismissively, "but try not to compare. Me and Judy are kind of like a weird miracle. While most people would have just jumped the gun and took their chances, we had to dance around the issue just so we could be sure about what we had."

"Not that it wasn't necessary," Judy reasons. "That time apart put our lives and ourselves in perspective. It was important that we knew what we had, that we knew that it was more than just desperation, if maybe love was somewhere in there. And…" She takes Nick's hand in hers, the large paw closing over her small one almost protectively. "Well we found out that it was both. We can't deny that we were looking for comfort in a desperate time – and maybe you were too – but we found something most people never get the chance to find… a safe place." One where they can fall back on each other, to hide away like vandals and vagrants as they soldier through every issue, hand-in-hand.

Nick nudges her side, the tension that may have been in his body vanishing entirely. "For better or worse, I like to think we work, flaws and all. Cause maybe we are codependent, maybe we do cling to each other too often, maybe it was just sex, and maybe it wasn't love that we found that night. But none of that matters. We  _chose_  to call this love. Didn't need a mythical spark or some grand gesture, no long winded confessions or those three ' _magical_ ' words. Cause in the end all those could be meaningless _._  Ultimately it's a decision, one you have to keep making."

Nick's eyes don't leave Judy's, a shortness of breath leaving him speechless for only a moment. "I chose you," he says, "and it only works if you choose me back. Everyday. All the time. Through my every mistake. Despite my every flaw. Where the only exception is when you choose what's better for me."

"And I think you—"

There is a sudden beep. Gizelle laughs nervously when her recorder shuts off again. "Sorry, had to document that too," she laughs genuinely, happy that they've relaxed entirely now. "But… I understand. At least I think so. Me and Terry come from different places and experienced different lives, and that's made us very different people. But maybe if I can get close enough to find that safe place then… maybe I can find it in myself to choose him and… hope he chooses me back."

She gets up with a huff, brimming with confidence. "I think this interview is done, don't you think?"

Nick and Judy nod before they follow her to the door. But when they stand at the doorway, they look back at her, giving her pause.

"Do you have what you need?" Judy asks.

"I… I do." Gizelle clutches her recording device, an intensity in her eyes that is fierce and determined, drowning out her fears. "This is everything I need."

Nick smirks at her, pulling out some shades. "Then finish the fight for us, yeah? We'll celebrate when you get us that win."

That kind of confidence in her almost makes Gizelle flinch, but she's determined and in her element. With all they've given her, she has no doubt that she'll make good on her promise.

And as the door shuts behind them, the frosted glass glistens with a particular etching reading:

_Gizelle Ripple – Attorney at Law._

**~o~~~~o~**

Gizelle enters the court house with a sense of unease, but it doesn't show. Her expression is stoic, determined, empowering even. It is a farce, yes, but when she gets into that court room, it'll be anything but.

Around the corner to her stop, she spots the twitch of a grey ear. For a relieving moment she thinks it might be An, but when Terence Kaenid rounds the corner instead, her heart stops.

"Gizelle," he says, the concern in his eyes is evident, but she knows it isn't for her.

Her eyes soften to regard him fondly. "Terry," she says calmly, a stark contrast to the rumbling in her chest.

"You're certain there's no other way? Ignorance might be bliss after all, and we can maybe use that."

She sighs, the tilt of her lips is genuine, the sorrow mixing with her slightly wilting posture evident of the hard choice she's made and what it's doing to her. "Marshal's been dragging this on for months. He's not just biding his time, he's capitalizing on his father's confession to make him out as a victim. And all that madness has only worked in his favor… You were there when his lawyer brought up Ross again. He's winning the jury, maybe even the judge."

"And you think showing them how the town suffered under him will sway them?" His tone isn't accusatory, not even defensive. He's just… bothered, haunted even. "It's a gamble that might not pay off. You might even end up reopening old wounds and… that'll hurt the town."

He's far more terrified of the prospect than she is, and suddenly her own fears melt away. Her muscles tense, and her heart seems to steady. She walks gently towards him, a hand leaving the papers clutched to her chest to rest gently at his chest.

She eyes him with the smile of an old friend, familiar and comforting. "You're scared. I know. And it'll hurt to hear, and I'm sorry for that, but if I don't do this,  _he_ wins. Even Marcus doesn't seem like he wants his son to get away with all this and re-enter the free world anymore, not after what he's done to this city, not after the way he manipulated the court. This either ends today, or it never does."

He exhales deeply, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips, bemused by her determination, proud of her lacking stutter and apprehension. He even places his hand over hers, pressing against his chest, feeling the warmth of her hand, and the fiery resolve coursing through its lithe, almost fragile skin. "There's really no changing your mind, is there?"

Her eyes dart away demurely for a moment, a sheen to her eyes that whispers silently of an apparent excitement. "No but… maybe it'll help if you give me another chance to change yours? Tonight? At my place?" There is no nervousness in her voice, the hope for something accenting her instead.

His hand falls away, not meeting her gaze. "Zel… you know I can't—"

"You might," she states optimistically. "In the very least we had fun last time and the time before that… And I promise it'll still be fun this time. Even if it doesn't end the way  _I_ want it to, you'll still end up feeling better. You can't lose."

"I don't want to keep hurting you like this."

"And I don't want to hurt you now… but we make tough calls cause maybe, just maybe, it'll turn out for the better." She smiles softly at him, confident that she'll win him over. "Have faith in me."

He breathes in amusement. "In court or… tonight?"

Her grin only widens. "Both," she says, winking.

She moves passed him, not even bothering to sway her hips. She knows he won't be looking, but she hopes she can win him over in other ways.

She realizes that he isn't following. "Are you coming?"

"Give me a minute," he replies, "I'll be right inside." He walks down the hall then, leaving her to round the corner alone.

She slumps against the wall, legs shaking uncontrollably. "I am  _not_ going to be able to pull that off a second time." She breathes in and out, but her panic and excitement mix strangely in her gut, and her lips whirl through different emotions that keep her distracted.

She shakes off these feelings, putting them away to sort out later. And they are all but forgotten when she stands before the right court room. Sporting a winning smirk, she walks in.

**~o~~~~o~**

_Marshal's attorney is more actor than he is lawyer. It's clear that none of his points are his own. Marshal has coached him into taking his stands for him. And that level of seamless instruction could have even made him a litigator if he wanted it, but all that intellect is wasted on murder._

_He sways the jury and wins their hearts, and Marshal looks all the better for it. Even if that week of murder could only be attributed to him, it changes nothing in the face of his defense._

_A victim, he calls him, a corrupted yet clever young soul just barely old enough to have graduated college if he ever went, is painted like a picture of great potential that is almost certainly lost if locked away in anything but an asylum, where he could, perhaps, be nursed back to sanity. And his attorney encourages the court to take that chance, so that maybe his intellect might better serve the world one day._

_Gizelle can't take the chance of the scales tipping. Her interview with Nick and Judy has armed her with everything she needs to make an emotional push in her direction, so they can put Marshal away for good._

_Marshal is caught off-guard when she starts making her statements – using Nick and Judy's experiences as the base of it all, like a narration of a story – and then calling in key figures in the town. But none of the residents she chooses are angry. They're distraught, broken, betrayed, and it hurts to hear them speak fondly of the way they used to see Marshal, and yet how terrified he makes them feel now._

_Soon it becomes apparent that Bronc Town can never rest easy if he's allowed to walk free. And the part of Marshal that is still kind and gentle, the one that is still the baker's son and not the avid serial killer, aches at the sight of their faces in such an open manner._

_Cause it's easy to stare down hatred and smile back with a toothy grin, but the genuine pain in their eyes leaves him bewildered. But he doesn't surrender like the jury slowly is. It's bad for Marshal but he begins plotting how to turn it around, whispering to his attorney._

_But Gizelle notices quickly, so she begins to call on her final witness, Marshal's girlfriend Audrey. When she speaks of her own fear and doesn't meet his eyes. It is brief and yet painfully long to him. So when she finally leaves, Marshal's resolve falters._

_He doesn't confess, but he stops trying to defend himself. The emotional turmoil is enough to win the jury completely._

_The legend of Carrion then finally ends at the hands of its own people, the victims of the once powerful curse clinging to life and their sense of being. It was not won with pitchforks and vengeance like the Hectors once stipulated it would, but with the whimpering hearts that never let the curse consume them, steadfast in their love for a quiet little place down south and the people they lost but never forgot._

~A draft of some novelization of the Bronc Town Abductions, accredited only to a mysterious signature with the initials JW.

**~o~~~~o~**

In the northern end of Bronc Town's forest there is a hidden path that cuts through trees shaped like gateways, reaching a clump of iron that points merrily towards a river, and down that river are two graves sitting solemnly at the bank. Old soldiers, and even older friends.

And further still is a lake just passed the canal and below three boulders embedded onto a cliff, a quiet little place that no one knows about. No one but an adventurous goat and an old friend he shared it with during a long night of drinking once upon a time.

Now the secret's out, that fox deciding to share that same camaraderie in a haven tucked away in a little nook of the world.

But, of course, the sly fox decides to go there first with a beautiful woman.

Judy emerges from the water in a cute but disposable green bikini. Not that she'd just toss something like this away, just that Nick has a tendency to rip her clothing if she coaxes too much of his libido out at once, but today she doesn't feel like watching herself too carefully.

She steps onto the grass and saunters her way towards a picnic spot where Nick – who is only in his trunks and wearing a pair of aviators – lounges about on a recliner still wrapped in its plastic. Nick dragged it out of the canal earlier and he said it's sentimental. She doesn't question it.

"Are you gonna join me later?" she asks, rubbing her scalp still with a lavender towel.

He tilts his shades at her before leaning back in his seat. "Wouldn't recommend it. Not sure I'd be able to keep my hands off you."

The next second she plops into the same seat, sighing happily as she sidles herself beside him.

He looks at her with a raised brow beneath the tint of his aviators. "What are you doing?"

"Giving you no choice, Slick," she says with a wink.

He sighs as he drops his aviators into the picnic mat below and settles the same hand on her waist. She kisses him then, opening his mouth to taste her and suckle on her lower lip. It's delicate nectar now, and he cherishes and revels in it with equal measure.

She bites her lip suggestively before falling back into his chest.

"I'm dating a bunny…" he breathes rapturously. "I'm either the luckiest guy on the planet, or the unluckiest."

"Having second thoughts about replacing my pills?"

"No, though the boys are already making bets on when my pelvis breaks." She laughs, it's a tiny thing, subtle even, but it's her and he knows she's happy to be here, with him. And the prospect of having someone love you so much, the idea that you could want and need from just one person is… daunting. Mind boggling, even, but… for once it's not terrifying. Everything else is, sure, but this isn't.

He breathes quietly into the last gasp of autumn that whisks into the open air. She looks up to lock with the vivid greens of his eyes that are lost in the distant horizons, imagined or otherwise. "I'm trying to put where I am right now in perspective," he says.

"Hm…" she intones thoughtfully, curling into him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. "You're dating your best friend. You've got a well-paying job that you're good at – which is perfectly legal, by the way. You're welcome." He rolls his eyes but mumbles his thanks anyway. "Heh. You keep up with both your bills and your taxes. You can afford a proper vacation. Your bed isn't a drawer anymore." He chuckles. "And the sex is great, I hope."

He pinches her rear, making her yelp. "Best I've ever had," he says with a toothy grin.

She lightly pounds his chest cause she can't slug his shoulder. "Don't be coy with me. You hardly have anything to compare to. At least not in the past few years."

"I'm still pretty sure I've never had better sex with anyone else." She doesn't look like she believes him but he'll see about curing those insecurities in time. Their relationship still has its flaws, but it isn't like they can't fix any of them. "Oh!" he says suddenly, "I slept with a secret agent once."

If the look of disbelief hadn't been clear then, it certainly is now. "You're… I don't know if you're lying."

He raises a hand. "Scout's honor."

She blinks at him and ultimately decides that she has no real counter to that. "Normally I'd think you're just trying to butter me up but… You're serious?"

"Yup."

"And you expect me to believe that I'm better at it?"

"Not at first, I'll admit… actually, I can't be honest about that one. I'm not sure I had the faculties to say whether or not our first time together was better or not." She doesn't argue. At the time they just sort of… needed it. And since then they've just been testing the waters… Wildly. Everywhere. Like the way a tornado tests a swimming pool. " _But_ ," he continues, "you're certainly better now. By far."

"And what makes you say that?"

"Cause I've been biting my lip trying not to jump you and I'm bleeding."

She looks up to see him sheepishly wiping the thin layer of blood trickling off his lip. "Nick!" she sits up, taking a towel off the armrest, only to hesitate about it hygienically. "Gosh, Nick, don't do that."

"Stop being the greatest thing that's ever happened to me and maybe I'll consider the option. But until then, I'm going to have to resist a very masculine and very  _primal_ urge to break the laws of nature and mate with you."

She shakes her head dismissively. "Well aren't you the romantic—Oop!" She realizes that she's not only straddled him, but also sitting on his lap. "Pitched a tent, have we?" she leers.

"I'm still not very good at resisting just yet." He shrugs. "Part of me wants to stop trying."

She considers it very carefully, but eventually stops trying to overthink it, letting her ears fall to her back as she leans into his ear. "How about a free pass today?"

"A dangerous offer. They're coming you know. Any minute now," he warns, but the suggestive tone in his voice tells her that he wants to try anyway.

Her lips linger off the edge of his, eyes half-lidded as their heads tilt ever so slightly, breaths poking and prodding with the want reaching out of their eager throats. "Care to… gamble?"

And how could he say no?

He pulls her in, lips crashing with the fervent desire that fumes out of her suddenly soaked nethers, half parted by the bulge in his pants that she rubs against.

She slowly lowers herself against his chest, fighting to catch his every breath, to trap their lungs until the sheer flurry of emotions forces them out of their sensibilities. Her hips buck until his bulge presses against his own stomach, causing him to growl and her to groan when he decides to grasp her cheeks full in his hands.

"It's over here, I think!" says a familiar voice from above.

They gasp when they pull away, looking up to the small cliff overhead. Their hearts are pounding in a familiar sense of panic. Cause they've been in this situation before and… okay, maybe it's time to tone down the libido and have sex in more private places for a while.

Judy wraps her waist with her towel as she hops off the recliner.

They first spot Lupin carrying Liz Waterdale on his shoulders, peeking out over the wrong side of the cliff, the lake itself in a blind spot beside one of the three giant rocks. They turn away as they look in another direction, but then Clawhauser walks into view instead with Gizelle beside him. She's laughing at something Terence says, keeping her distracted when Ben finally looks down to spot them sweating down below.

He seems to immediately take the hint.

"Hey, guys?" he calls out to them. "I think it might have been in the other direction."

"Shit," An curses as her face palm resounds audibly through the forest. " _Ow…_  Fucking… Okay, maybe I got the directions wrong."

"Now, darlin', it ain't your fault," Calvary says softly, his voice trailing away as they hear the group move away for what is likely going to be ten minutes at most. In other words, not nearly long enough.

Not that it matters. Nick… well, he realizes that his boner is already gone anyway.

"That killed it," Judy says with a tilt lip.

He gets off his chair and kisses her ear. "I'll make it up to you in the car. For now, I think we should cool off." He looks off into the distance, where a wide clearing sits beside the lake where a single wooden counter sits idly under the shade of a tree.

He stares at it for a little while. Longer than he should.

Memories of his old friend Smith still linger in the forefront of his mind at times. He's still a little guilty about not saving him in time, but he's slowly coming to accept it. Taking the recliner he'd offered to him all those years ago is already a step towards closure. The burial next week would be the next.

A warmth tugs at his wrist, her head resting against it as she tugs him away from the thoughts that she knows are still haunting him. "Hey," is all she says before she pats his cheek.

Other memories take their place. Of her and everything that is, was, and always will be. And for a moment she is a glimpse of a better future, hope and safety, pleasure and joy, searing through the haze of troubles and torments that still lick the razor's edge pressed into his heart. It is a moment of clarity he'd seen in her the first time she'd offer him a brighter future outside of his dingy old apartment and the cutthroat lifestyle he'd grown accustomed to. And now he sees it here, breaching a deep chaos to soothe the dire soul beneath that still writhes in the agony of old terrors. And he clings to her, certain that she is everything he'll ever need in this madness.

"Judy… I…"

She presses a finger to his lips. "Shh," she whispers, pecking the tip of his snout.

 _Love,_  they think. Feel. word is unspoken as it is unnecessary.

He takes her by the waist as they walk off towards the wooden counter, him grabbing a duffle bag on the way.

The clearing there is bright and loud, the wind roaring through it like it is at the foot of a valley, the sun beating into it like it is Summer and not the lukewarm rays of the persisting Autumn.

Their bags fall to the dirt as they stare across the clearing, spotting six printed targets glued to wooden poles, lined up at varying distances.

Nick pulls out his pistol and loads his rounds and turns off the safety.

Judy hoists her rifle's strap to her shoulder, checking the chamber and attaching the sight.

They aim at different targets, whispering to each other about which one they'll take and when to fire.

They hold their breaths and steady their aim.

It is true that they have emerged from the roaring maw of the Carrion Killer and his curse. It is true that they have survived both demons – old and new – and put them away where their vicious grasp might never take another. But it does not mean they have survived unscathed.

They are scarred – that's permanent. It doesn't change the fact that they've won, but it doesn't mean they get to walk out of it as the same people.

They're different now, for better or worse. Stronger, hardier, wiser, but they still ache. And the world seems darker for it.

But they'll endure it together. Tomorrow doesn't have to be so grim.

And there will come a time where they'll face something just as terrible, or maybe even worse. But they'll be damned if they let it get the best of them again.

Weapons free and hearts hardened like cast iron, they fire at imagined enemies.

And this time… Nick hits his mark.

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

_I got this place out north passed the canal. It's a bit of a walk. It's passed these three rocks and… I'll just draw you a map. Hand me that napkin._

So what kind of place is it?

_Mah' own little nook in the world. Now I need you to make me a promise: Don't go see it yet. Find yourself that woman first._

So…  _never,_  then?

_Don't be coy with me, John. 'Sides, It's a real special place. Just don't go there till you need it. Go there when ya' find a reason to scream at the sky or… need a place to love someone. Make your first memory with it last ya' forever._

…Almost sounds like a farewell gift. You alright, Smith?

_Nuthin' so grim, John. I just ain't gonna see you at your best or your worst anytime soon. But she'll be there for both, whoever that fine woman is. She's out there somewhere, I'm sure of it. And you'll be hers and she'll be yours and…_

… _Just be sure to thank me when you find it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over!
> 
> No, not really. Trivia and Epilogue still incoming. XD
> 
> My brain cells are on fire because of this. And no, not in the good way. It's passed midnight and we finally got the final bits of editing down. Soon we'll be able to edit the whole piece for grammatical errors (but not the shorthand here, sorry ><).
> 
> On top of everything, we still had to check back and make sure all the pieces fit and that we tie up any loose ends that the Epilogue won't touch later.
> 
> That aside, I suppose I have to point out that if the Harrier scenes felt like a different story, then I've done my job, cause that was the intention. Might have been jarring, but this work is experimental anyway.
> 
> I'd like to say more but I'll have to save my closing remarks for when this thing is finally, officially, complete. But I just wanna say I'm glad to have gone through this journey with you all. XD Thanks to everyone who have so far shown their support, silent or otherwise. We would not have made it this far with you all. :)


	24. Trivia

Welcome to the Trivia! Where I will explain just how NEEDLESSLY COMPLICATED this story is from the ground up! There are allusions and intricacies that spawned from this monumental idea because I needed to make every part of this as good as I could have made it. I needed to do justice to the genre since it's my first time writing a murder mystery and neither my brain nor my heart were willing to let me do this without giving it my all.

**But even if you're not interested in the Trivia, please do check out the very last one because it's a matter that requires some attention from ALL our readers.**

AND PLEASE BE ADVISED, these were all ideas drawn up when we began. They may not have been explored as well as we would have hoped with the final product, but if we actually explored every nook and cranny of this thing, it would have been a third or so longer than it already is with too many scenes that would feel like filler. (Also, sorry if any of this sounds pretentious. _ We just wanted to broach a wide set of ideas and topics that we might have even been over our heads).

And now some disclaimer:

As I will continually reference myself and my team, I will say "I" when referring to  _just_ me, or "we" when I mean my team had a hand in it one way or another. And just as well, there are a few parts where my beta will be the one talking. You don't really need to parse between us so it doesn't really matter. XD

* * *

* * *

 

Before we begin, I would like to firstly introduce the story's central theme:  **Desperation**

It's in more than just the plot. It is the driving point behind every major decision, at the core of most of the characters' motivations.

It's even behind Nick and Judy's romance through the story (until the end when it's just want and a desire to be together) and even their every push to catch Carrion himself, like when Nick gets knocked out after chasing Carrion in an alleyway, and why they hastily went to the Hector residence when they find out that it was Marcus all along.

And there's more. It's behind Ross's coup and his attempt on Nick's life. It's why An asked Barns and Clem to go down to the basement and why Gizelle went along with it. It's why Sam went to the Broncs and why Bogo went after. It's why Marcus admitted to being both Carrions, and why Marshal let his inhibitions go to become Carrion.

Etc. etc... You get the point.

You'll manage to pick it out every once in a while when we explore the rest of the story a bit more here. Just keep it in mind. We did a lot of work making sure it's kind of bred into everybody.

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

**Places**

**Bronc Town: The Ideal Setting**

A fan fiction author has the unique position of working on something pre-established, be it a setting, a universe, a character, etc. And we considered using the same setting, and doing so in Zootopia would have been a piece of cake… were this not a murder mystery.

You see, Zootopia may be expansive and has lots of room for characters and what not, but what it did lack was malleable history, and Carrion, as you can see, has deep roots in Bronc Town. To have made the same antagonist in Zootopia would have made his ties to the setting less meaningful as a whole. Zootopia is massive and sprawling, a monument to the modern age, a shining beacon in the west… but Bronc Town? It's small, cozy. It's a home where everyone knows your name. That's what we wanted for the setting.

Cause the idea of corrupting that? To spawn distrust in an otherwise close-knit community? To unhinge a sense of prevalent stability that has lasted for generations? It felt like a powerful image we could use. It made the serial killer larger than life.

And small towns tend to turn things like that into urban legends, to make their fears tangible somehow, to give them form instead of remaining in a state of infinite and terrifying possibilities.

Marcus and Marshal, in the end, don't even need to live up to expectations to be scary. What they leave behind with that image alone immortalizes them in people's minds, branding them as avatars of unspeakable things.

**The Graze Hotel and the Accommodation Standard**

Title already bore you? Sorry, it's supposed to be like that. (But feel free to skip this one. It's kind of just technical).

Hotels are meant to house everybody for as long as you can afford the room. But how do you do that when you have tenants large enough to break a ceiling, and some small enough to fit in a cup? Well, you divide them.

Notice that Nick and Judy's room in the Graze Hotel is "314M". This means: floor 3, room 14, Moderate accommodation.

We began, first, with the idea that most mammals fall under the "Moderate" category because, unlike the other two categories, they do not require the extreme changes to rectify their common needs. A mouse and an elephant cannot use the same doors, drawers, roads, etc. However, everything from a regular rabbit up to, say… a  _lion,_  could relatively use the same things with some ingenuity. Bedding, staircases, and elevators are easy enough: just make them large enough to hold them all. Things like a toilet seat or a doorknob only need to be adjustable for height and size.

The Large or Small mammals don't need adjustable anything. Their furnishings are up to scale with their own accommodation range since they're mostly the same height anyway.

The next step was considering the weight distribution. Tall buildings need strong supports on the first floors and below, so it would make sense that after the lobby on the first floor, the second floor would contain the Large category of mammals, so we'd given it tall ceilings and thick walls.

Though we never get to reference the weird height of the first and second floor (cause the Lobby is SUPPOSED to be spacious and inviting for all mammals, and the second floor never gets a visit in the story) this is a design we'd conjured in the hopes that maybe we could use them again in the future.

The top floor would then contain the Small category, but it had caveats we needed to design around. Vibrations in the walls and such from their neighbors downstairs or on the roof required padding and reinforcing. And though it would house small mammals, the halls needed space for taller people to pass through the floor itself to receive visitors or at least get on the roof.

Hotels in the world of Zootopia need to abide by these (haphazardly strewn-together) rules to allow all mammals an inclusion. And should we ever need to actually reference them (though I'm sure we never will), these tenets are to be called the "Accomodation Standard".

We also have this concept for an "in-out" staircase that universally accommodates all mammal sizes, even giraffes, but it's, again, just more technical jargon.

**Ross's Garden**

A bit of a refresher: Ross was the puma who ousted the Sheriff. Eli was his deceased wife. They were both loved by the town… until Ross went crazy.

So you know how on Valentines Day people get each other flowers? Well, back when they used to live in the city of Orca, Ross was always working during the very holiday and could never send Eli flowers. On occasion he might but sometimes there's a problem or it doesn't arrive.

Eli didn't like that, but she shrugged it off. She was sweet like that, even if it hurt. And as the ever attentive husband and detective that was Rostetler Rundi, he noticed.

So when the day came that they would move to Bronc Town, Ross decided to make it up to her for missing out on all the missed bouquets.

He ensures that the Villa's poker area is remade into a garden plot where he plants the flowers himself. It's to be his flowers to her, everyday,  _forever._

It is meant to persist even after his own passing. And even after hers. It was for their children, and their children's children, and so on and so forth. A gift that would never die. One that would bloom each season like a tangible confession, thanks, and apology, as if the words never needed speaking ever again.

Such a shame that it didn't last.

**Halberd**

In the inner-west or Midwest, is Halberd, the European "capital". That's in quotation marks cause Zootopia, in our headcanon, is as much the American capital as Halberd. We've made the world broken up in multiple city states and they are more or less aligned with their own continent (Europe, America, Southeast Asian Islands, etc).

Zootopia is a city named after the people, but Halberd is named after the royal family. This reflects how the place makes its priorities but it is the bedrock of the cultural renaissance.

It is also winged by two prominent towns. Mordose, Bogo's home town, and Cordrose, which is Creed's.

...

So you know how the Horace Memorial in the center of town was dedicated to the last horse on earth dying in the Broncs?

Well… horses were made extinct in the story because I didn't know they were in the movie. I didn't see them. A second look at the movie with my beta showed me I was wrong. Sorry about that. _

…

**Why was Javan's office large enough to become the forensics room?**

Well that's because it used to belong to his old mentor, Taepur, who not only owned the damn building, but was also the resident detective. His personal office was meant to be a mini briefing room of sorts.

Javan, however, never got good enough to take his place so the position of resident detective remained open. Javan kept the office but mostly just kept it tidy. He never did make use of all the space as the room was largely untouched.

…

Since Bronc Town is large enough to be its own county whilst only harboring a single settlement in its entirety. That means that there's a lot of space that is unused and unexplored. This is why so many people have their own little spots for themselves.

Ross and Eli have their canal, Smith has his shack and his spot by the lake, Deputies Hamish and Lana have their beaten dirt path in the forest, Henry Avery has his friend's grave (more on this later), the Hectors have their clearing passed the swamp, not to mention all the scattered cottages in the forests.

This only vaguely sets up the scale of the place. I live in a pretty rural country and a vast multitude of farmers don't really live so close together at such a scale. But those that  _do_  tend to have easy camaraderie with each other, like extended family that actually _becomes_  family when they start marrying into each other. This also ends up combining the land but you get the point.

This camaraderie is an interesting quality between farmers. I don't know what it's like in other countries, but if any of you are familiar, I'd love to hear your story.

…

A long time ago, the swamp in Bronc Town was overrun… by hunters. Since the war ended, people were riling themselves up shooting things that weren't necessarily enemies. So off they went to hunt gators to such a degree that the darn things nearly went extinct in the swamp!

But, you see, the hunting club was doing really, really well for keeping people happy and if the gators all disappeared, it'd be a hit on the town's morale.

This points to the connection between Creed, Smith and Bucky which was brought up when Smith was "kidnapped" in chapter 6. They'd been supplying gators and feeding them for the purpose of ensuring the Hunting Club's continued activities.

And now you know their secret too.

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

**Characters**

**Nick and Judy: Character Progression and Romance**

Try to put yourself in Nick and Judy's place. Hundreds of immediate lives are in danger in an unfamiliar town down south, and it's their job to fix problems like these. It's what they're famous for.

But then they find out that it has a major caveat. Their partnership is mirrored with that of another: Sam and Bogo, and as close-knit as those two were, they were torn apart by the very same case. With it resurging, somebody needs to take the reins and risk their own partnership. _And it has to be them._

Nick and Judy, throughout the whole story, are working in fear of losing each other both metaphorically and literally (despite their hearty convictions and words of comfort).

Adding to that, they later on discovered that the tensions in town that were permeating off  _everyone,_ is starting to have an effect on them. Nick starts reaching for his gun and Judy can't help but flirt to calm herself down. (She makes an attempt with a sultry tone in chapter 2, and it works so well that she decided to do it again later)

So what am I trying to say with all this?

Nick is supposed to be witty, snarky, and sarcastic. Judy is supposed be excitable, gung-ho, and so outrageously friendly that  **she grabs you by the heartstrings**.

 **But…**! they're scared. Out of their minds.

They understand from day one that even  **they**  could end up being victims. And at the end  _of_ day one, Nick gets attacked and Judy is afraid that he might not make it out of the hospital  _after_  she finds him unconscious in an alleyway.

All of this reinforces the idea that they can't be themselves for so much of the story. They have to be steely and actively trying to keep the town's curse from consuming them by forcing a smile and regularly seeking each other.

Judy even has bouts of cynicism in moments where she's being honest with Nick about her fears.

And it becomes such a habit to fall into each other's arms more than usual, that it actually becomes a problem later on when they start feeling codependent.

But there was no avoiding this. I needed to write it in. But I really wanted to write more quips and witty exchanges. And if you've at all read Fluff Pieces by RedPen, then you know exactly how good it feels to see them interact like that. Cause it's clever,  _they're_ clever, and it just feels  _good_ to be witness to that _._

*Sigh*

That aside, one ought to remember that when people are faced with something harrowing or eye-opening… they change. Even if it's just a little, they have to change. Cause people are constantly molded by their world, their actions, and the actions of those around them.

We are products of the environment that is in constant flux. We do not remain static. We are not machines.

And if a character is to be believable, then neither must they.

That is why the story ends with them on a bittersweet note. They're a little sweeter – if a little more sexual with each other – but they're also much more grim. Cause they stared death in the eyes thrice, one after the other, and they fought for their convictions but considered doing things they never thought they'd ever do. The change that comes with that is permanent, a scar if you will.

You don't get to fully recover, that's not how life works. And some things never stop haunting you. Instead you just learn to deal with it, and you grow up by consequence. Your skin gets tougher and you feel yourself enduring a little more than you used to.

And if I ever make a sequel, I'll be hard pressed to showcase that kind of character development.

…

On a significantly lighter note, I'd like to talk about Nick and Judy's romance.

Neither of them really felt typical to me.

Judy leaves her home town in relative permanence, but none of her friends from her school are ever on the station. It's just her family. And I get that maybe schoolyard friends don't stay together for as long, but it's still just her family seeing her off. If she made other friends, they were close enough to be there.

My headcanon for this is that, with so many immediate relatives, perhaps she might have just been content with only them. And with family as your closest friends, she would then have very little to do with romance as a whole. Though she's dabbled with other burrows, surely, she doesn't have enough to say she understands them the way most people do. She's too busy working on her career and making a change in the world to really give it as much thought as everyone else.

Nick on the other hand… well, he clearly didn't allow himself to get very close to people. He'd let people do that in the past when he was naïve and young, but then he changed. He became snide and sly, he became everything people expected him to be.

And because he lived on the streets, trying to make a living with being the way he is, he needed to be cutthroat and quick on his feet. Everyday. All the time.

This didn't give him enough breathing room to make meaningful relationships. Everything was finite and fleeting. Every connection, every partner. It'll go soon enough and another will take its place.

Though his teens would certainly have made him curious, it wouldn't for long. Cause in the end he wasn't out to impress anybody. He was looking out for himself. Hormones took a backseat in the face of that.

And the way I see it, Nick's initial relationship with Judy showcases something interesting. He's clearly not as cruel or self-centered as he pretended to be. The young kit who wanted to be a boy scout was still there, hiding underneath.

Judy was an opportunity to look at himself in the mirror… and try to save her the way he  _wished_ someone saved him. (Reference: Nick's back talking with Bogo before the skytram scene)

The chance of redemption that followed gave way to another point in their relationship. They were more alike than they thought. Sure Nick could never unlearn being mildly obnoxious in his own way but it is part of his character and she didn't really seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to think that it was quite endearing.

This was all a bedrock for a great friendship. They saw themselves in each other, they've endured hardships together, they clearly got along, and it all doesn't necessitate romance…

…which is why it totally had to happen.

It might sound a little cliché but most working relationships take a while to kick off. Some might succeed getting to know each other  _during_ the relationship but this  **usually** doesn't work.

When you know someone for long enough, you understand all their nuances and their quirks. And some of these qualities you might not like at length and some you might not like at all. So it's good to get these sorted out before you even consider the possibility of being an item.

And considering how analytical they'd become, of course that would have to come into account when they were thinking about each other.

Though you'll notice that they didn't even entertain the idea of being together until everyone starts really bringing it up. Sure people had pointed it out before but then they're thrust into a stressful situation and it's only natural that the regular comfort they'd grown accustomed to suddenly began sparking rather suggestive ideas.

They clung to each other when the case got tougher and tougher, up until the point where they entertained the idea of sleeping with each other, and then after that they considered actually doing it when An stole Judy's pills.

But they didn't go through with it.

Cause they knew that it might just end up being just sex and a friendship like that could be disastrous cause they weren't normally so promiscuous. The ' _friends with benefits_ ' thing wasn't their style so trying it right there and then without taking into account how they felt about each other might have turned for the worst come the morning – especially since neither of them had very many faculties that night anyway.

So what was the verdict they reached in the end?

At the time, the lust was clear. It was desperate and needful. They needed the comfort. And then there was love. Not because it was there all along (though it arguably might have) they eventually mutually decided that, yes, this is love.

So the verdict, in the end, was that it was both. Cause the two aren't actually mutually exclusive. (Which confuses people for some reason?)

To them, whether or not it was love was a choice, one they had to make with clear minds and all the certainty that kind of relationship  _ **deserved.**_ They couldn't jump headlong into it, couldn't do it the disservice of opting for love with abandon.

Cause when you find somebody special, somebody you want to keep around for a long time, you gotta learn to wait for them, you gotta learn to deal with their shortcomings and their flaws, and you have to be able to see them through something tough. And they should be able to let you in and see you at your ugliest, and vice versa.

And there's so much you need to know before you consider something is worth taking the dive for. But the beautiful thing about a friendship like _theirs_  is that you don't have to meticulously pick out these parts to see if it's worth it.

To a pair like them, it comes naturally. And had they not been in a stressful, desperate situation, they would have tried being an item somewhere down the road anyway.

….

**The OTHER Protagonist**

So we had an issue at the very beginning of development. We decided to have THREE protagonists:  **Nick** ,  **Judy** , and  **the Broncs**. Yes, the  _entire_ town.

When writing through Nick and Judy's perspective, they had an inescapable quality: they were outsiders. They don't feel the pains and struggles the way the rest of the town does,  **and that's important.** Right off the bat, Sam and Bogo were asked to empathize with the town and that's the reason why they couldn't look Marcus in the eye and see if he was the serial killer. It doomed the case.

Nick and Judy were never asked to empathize with the town,  _they were just asked to save it_. And that's why they caught Carrion. Their pains were their own, and not the town's. They felt sorry for them, yeah, but they never got attached like Sam and Bogo, didn't let themselves fall into the same depressions and biases.

Even Nick's desperate venture to save Judy was unrelated to the case and the town's torments. And his unease with owning a weapon is more of a personal issue than the growing dread of a serial killer.

They needed to be separate. They needed to fear different things. And they also needed to NOT feel the way the town does. They even actively try to stem the tide of the town's curse from consuming them. They bathe in the same room, they share a bed, they flirt when they normally didn't (at least not so often). Hell, they even entertain the idea of having sex as a last resort (which – you'll notice – they manage to reach).

The short and skinny of it:  **Nick and Judy couldn't afford to be part of the problem.**

But the _audience_  had to empathize with the town. You needed to know why it was so important to save it. It couldn't  _just_ be another town. Nick and Judy couldn't save them just because it was their  _job_.

And that's why the Broncs as a whole is another character but… just  _one_.

I know, it's confusing. But let me explain.

You'll notice that there are certain points to characters that we just sort of… let lie.

We never fully explore An or Calvary's relationship, we jump so far into Reese and Liz's that they're already banging when you least expect it, Creed's suspicions on who Carrion is never gets explored again, Calvary struggling with Kayla's death only gets glimpsed, Gizelle's transition from reporter to attorney is in the background, and Smith's friendship with Nick only gets traction on  _Nick's_  end. Cause we're viewing them as a whole, as one,  **as Bronc Town**.

The whole of their story isn't what's important. These people are  _alive,_ and that's the part that gets the lens. You don't need to see the whole thing, you just need to know what will happen to them if Nick and Judy don't solve the case in time. What will be for naught and what pipedreams never make it out of the mind's eye.

They're more than just the supporting cast or the people in the background. They're the people that get hurt, the people Nick and Judy try not to be before it's too late, and the people they're trying to save.

…

**The Hectors and the Birth of Carrion**

The Hectors were inspired by acclaimed serial killer, Hannibal Lecter. Which is how we came up with " **H** annibal L **ecter** " = " **Hector** ".

(My beta also recommended "Burderer the Murderer" but that would've been too on the nose. lol)

Now, notice that Raeger and Karvina have distinctly non-conventional names. And yet Marcus and Marshal  _do_ have conventional names _._  This is because the Hector family name deigns  _them_ as the outsiders as it is the apparent norm to be of the Natural Order of Things.

Not to say that the Hectors have a family history of eating people. Don't worry about that. It's just how we designed the surname.

…

So Marcus's talents as a serial killer never get the lens as far as origins go. So I'll endeavor to reveal them here if you haven't already figured them out.

His tracking skills and natural prowess stem from years of personal training with gator hunting. He'd been doing it since he was a boy. But that's him physically, and it was likely the most obvious anyway. Even his tracking skills tie into this.

But the rest?

Marcus is intelligent, pigs are naturally quite smart, didn't you know. But he's also empathic. He understands people.

We'd have loved to give this part of him more focus but we didn't have the time. Could have fit it with some subtlety but we were a little pre-occupied with Ross.

But Marcus notices things in people. He watches their habits and scrutinizes details like a detective would. This even allows him to predict how people will react to something. (It's also a business sense).

Notice how he tracked Hamish and Lana to their hideout by  **glancing.** Sure he did it for a few days but he didn't need to do anything overt. He'd just used his common sense to put everything together.

…

 **Remember Raeger's last desperate speech before dying?** Notice how he suddenly stops screaming. That detail is important.

Something slowly sets into Marcus during this scene, his turn as Carrion, but with its kick off comes a rather depressing detail: Raeger's whole speech wasn't real.

Marcus imagined them all so he could remember his brother fondly even in his last, horrible moments.

…

Suther Hick's death grants Marshal the same kind of trauma as Marcus's with Raeger. But Marshal doesn't need to become like his father. He doesn't need to become a serial killer.

He freely admits that he'd just sent the cops after the cult. He doesn't seek retribution, he is just worried about his family. And this creates a distinct difference between the Old Carrion that Marcus was and the New Carrion that Marshal becomes.

Marshal is not fueled by actualization. He just wants to kill people, a desire bred into him ever since Marcus shared with him the path of philosophy of Carrion with his new diet.

But there's more to the difference than just the why.

In Chapter 7, Act 4, we see Marshal go through the processes of becoming Carrion. But notice how those moments at the end – where he's just killing – are there and gone, quicker than the last, all in a flash. This is because of how we're trying to portray how he feels about these scenarios.

He considers morals, wretches at his own atrocities, and yet, when he's actually doing the deed, it's almost effortless.

Because, to him, it's being  _normal_ that takes effort, whilst being a serial killer takes nearly none at all.

…

I feel sick writing this, but yes, for anyone who thought Kayla was in the pie the Hectors gave to Calvary, she was. He didn't eat it though, didn't have the appetite. But it goes unmentioned. We wanted to point it out, but when the time came to do it… well, it felt forced.

But, to be fair, Marcus didn't know. Marshal baked her spare bits in the pie without his father's knowledge.

After Marshal awakens in his car, the next moment in the scene is supposed to exposition about that happening, but it didn't feel right. So I opted to oust it altogether. But in the story its canon.

There was also supposed to be mention of it by Marcus when he fights Calvary after his arrest, but again, we opted out of it. It would have been too morbid.

…

**Marcus, at first, was written as completely sadistic.**

He'd have been everything like Marshal and they were initially meant to do everything together, whilst Marcus stood as the stoic and cold mentor, with Marshal as the naïve yet brilliant protégé.

But this kind of evil was kind of… cartoony. It ignored their history and their personalities before becoming murderers. So we changed it in the end and opted for a more sympathetic and tortured Marcus.

Marshal on the other hand was more a tipping scale for both extremes. Cause on the one hand he was still innocent inside and couldn't stand the sight of himself, and on the other is all that sadism he'd come to embrace.

…

**The Hectors both had their own passionate speeches about Carrion in chapter 3. They were both completely honest.**

Marcus genuinely wanted to be punished for what he'd done. And since he watched his son kill Kayla, he also wanted to take all the blame for the murders.

Marshal's speech was a silent plea to kill the demon writhing inside of him, which you can see has been tormenting him up until his father gets arrested.

…

**The Subvillain**

_Ross wasn't meant to be the subvillain at first, it was Sam._

Just as we were rounding off chapter 2, we came upon a peculiar detail. We'd written Sam as a hero in the past alongside Bogo, and to make her too stubborn to see Nick and Judy as just upstarts felt… wrong. She could at the start, that was what first impressions were like, but we couldn't keep it that way.

She was allowed to do it with Calvary cause she's a renowned detective and she's allowed to be suspicious. But it's a personal issue with Nick and Judy, so it had to be resolved. And by consequence, Judy in a shawl became a staple.

Though Ross was originally there as a maniac. He still thought Nick was his wife's killer but hallucinating Eli wasn't written in yet. Instead he'd turn to Sam who he'd deluded himself into thinking that she was like him. And the two of them were meant to plot against Nick and Judy when Ross came up with more and more evidence that it might actually be Nick who was Carrion.

Sam would later realize how crazy he was and then she'd join Nick and Judy with fending off Ross. Ross would escape but would later be caught by Marcus in either deepest reach of the canals or at an asylum. (The line: "I wonder what crazy tastes like" was used frequently whenever we went back to it).

This all fell away when we realized that Sam simply couldn't have been that stubborn or close-minded if she'd been a star officer and Ross being a generic mad man couldn't work out and would take up unnecessary screen time.

So Sam would quickly be redeemed and we opted for Ross to have much more depth. This all worked beautifully in tandem with the sane Ross who was meant to be a professional in his own right. We used this to our advantage to make the one theory that would lead Nick and Judy to the Hector doorstep.

**Ross's Hallucinations**

So now you know that when Ross was seeing his dead wife Eli, he'd actually been seeing Tali all along. But it's not always Tali he's overlaying in his head, cause the rest of the times it's really just a hallucination of Eli and nothing else.

My beta lovingly dubbed them as Teli (Tali-Eli) and Heli (Hallucination Eli) respectively.

I'm sure some of you might have already figured this out but I'm pointing it out anyway.

Any time it's purely a hallucination, Ross has no doubts. He doesn't ever touch her in those scenes either because he subconsciously knows it's just a figment of his imagination.

But when it's actually Tali…? He notices the distinct difference in her voice. His brain still mostly overrides it because he's lost his mind but he feels it nonetheless and he tries to reach for her in those scenes. And he manages to touch her, feeling Eli when it's actually Tali. And even though the sensation of her doesn't exactly line up, he still manages to delude himself.

So, if you like, you can look back and read those scenes where Ross is hallucinating his dead wife. If he doesn't touch her, or actively tries not to, it's just a hallucination. If he manages to touch her, then she's Tali underneath that. And notice the distinct dialogue between them during those times.

If you imagine Tali in Eli's place during those moments when it's her beneath the hallucination, you find that she is experiencing an entirely different conversation with him. One that is genuinely quite depressing when you realize where it ends.

…

You remember when Ross stood on the watch tower stared down at the morning practice, only for it all to turn into lush farmlands and the tower into a silo?

This is all an imagined future that he'd made cause Eli talked about wanting this kind of life when they were younger.

But it isn't  _his_  dream. It's hers. Only hers. Cause he wanted a white picket fence in town, not a quiet home out on the farmlands. This is an indication that he has abandoned his own wants and dreams. That it's all for her.

Cause at that point, the only thing he wanted to do for himself was end it all, but he couldn't. He needed to do right by her and catch her killer.

The rest didn't matter. Not even himself.

Here's some things ripped straight from our notes about characters!:

∟ **The modern kidnappings, in order are:**

August 6, 2013 - Mr. Montgomery Kidd

August 7, 2013 - Trisha Mildew (a maid under one of the prominent families in town, she is a hippo)

August 8, 2013 - Elira Rundi (Ross's wife) and Mark Ferris (Elira's brother)

August 9, 2013 - Kayla Rivers (the beloved town darling)

August 10, 2013 - Sigurd Mason (deputy camel, one of the good ones)

August 11, 2013 - Goddard Smith (Buckshot employee, Bucky's best friend)

August 13, 2013 - Bill Macy, Trudy Adams, (deputies under Ross and Creed respectively) Darley Welks (security)

August 14, 2013 - Liz Waterdale (maybe?)

**NAMES OF THINGS**

∟Terence Kaenid – referencing the Canidae genus.

∟Sambaure Tarpanaurouch Javanarusa is the full name of the Buckshot gun shop owner. They just call him Bucky.

His name derives from the Sambar (Sambaure) deer, Tarpan an extinct forest horse and Auroch, forest ox. (Tarpanaurouch) And Javan Rusa, another way to say Sambar deer (Javanarusa).

∟Spruce Wamancht's surname is an anagram for "watchman".

∟An was made as a sort of contrast to Nick, a confidence that is snide and can get on other people's nerves. That's why her last name (Hunt) is also as vaguely interpretational to her as Nick's (Wilde). Parallel to that is Calvary, who is as much a paragon as Judy, whose surname (Pride) is just as direct as hers (Hopps).

∟The gunsmith who made Nick and Judy's guns is named Chekhov… heh.

∟Meridith Luvierre Mellivora, her surname is the exact name for her genus.

…

∟ _Suther is a first name that was intentionally built to not only be non-dictionary, but also to be needlessly complicated_

When we set out to build the world the story would be in whilst taking Zootopia as a base (which is  _so_  much easier than creating one from scratch, I tell you), we knew that we needed the characters in it to have a life behind them, to breathe life into the world by making these people appear as real as they could be. Every individual needed a backstory that makes them who they are, and we had to accept that a lot of them would never be explicitly mentioned.

One of the ways I did this was creating the name "Suther" which is laced with Swedish and American histories. The name comes from a combination of the Swedish name "Sture" which means  _to be contrary_ (a nod to the antithetical nature of Suther Reese to his partner Terence, and Suther Hicks to…  _the cult_ ), and the English word "Southern."

It is a name crafted by immigrating families from Sweden to America who wanted to live their lives anew, so that's why Suther Hicks has that name. Hicks also isn't actually his original surname. At first it was Ström but when they moved to the south and were mistaken for country "hicks" given their farming attire and initial lifestyle when they arrived, they changed it to suit their new surroundings.

As for Suther Reese, his first name was adopted by his parents when they heard it somewhere and thought it would be a nice name for him.

∟ _Fengmeyer brothers wasn't planned_

I read somewhere about Fengmeyer being a wolf but then I found out he was a tiger… so I just ran with it and made the wolf adopted. End of story, really. It was a quick fix and it fit into the dynamic world rather nicely in my opinion. (I also later found out Fengmeyer was a girl…? I just gave up at that point.)

∟So what's Terence's big secret that Gizelle and An kept whispering about?

Well, he's gay.

He does, however, still wonder about women, he feels more inclined to men but he isn't actively looking for someone right now.

There are hints to this though. The mention of anal during his talk with An is by no means a huge hint but it is there. When Nick first compliments him on his good work, he's more than a little pleased but mostly because he respects Nick, and only in part that he finds him attractive. This doesn't mean that Terence has feelings for him, mind you, but Terence can't help but admire the beauty of another animal even if it is of the same sex.

It's also not really a secret, An and Gizelle just treat it like one. He  _personally_ doesn't really care.

Footnote: For anyone who's thinking of making a character off a trope: remember that a trait or a characteristic cannot be their entirety. Real people have depth and are never so one dimensional.

∟ _Bogo has long suspected Creed to be Carrion_

In the beginning of chapter 2, Bogo says to Sam, "You're the only one I really trust to do it," which means that he doesn't fully trust Creed who has been one of his oldest friends (quite literally, even). But why hasn't he spoken about it to her? Because he knows Sam loves Creed like a father figure, and Bogo would never willing throw the old bear under the bus unless he was absolutely sure of his theory. Luckily he never finds enough evidence so he keeps it to himself.

However, it was torturous because Bogo was so sure of his own theory that it nearly drove him nuts when he couldn't find anything and couldn't even  _hint_ at it with the one person he usually bounced ideas off of: Sam.

It is only  _barely_ mentioned once again when they pull up the map they suspect Creed is linked to. All he does is  _huff_ because he's trying to be discreet.

Footnote: Bogo is also the person who hired Spruce Wamancht to come to the Broncs in the first place.

∟ _Creed cherishes every memory of his past but mostly because they don't involve Carrion_

Now this is something that may have gone over certain people's heads so I apologize if it wasn't clear. But to be fair, it wasn't intended to be absolutely clear either.

Chapter 4 has Creed turning up the AC to both help preserve a severed arm and to remind him of winters in Cordrose. And Terence later expositions that Creed likes the cold. But why does Sam respond to the AC thing by saying "I'll knit you a damn sweater"?

Well it isn't about the temperature. It's, again, about memory. Nick in Chapter 3 reveals that form-fitting black sweaters are a staple uniform for the Bigs and Sam knows this. So the sweater she wants to offer is one for reminisce, not warmth.

Oh, and if it wasn't clear… Yes, Sam legitimately knows how to knit. And on a more important note, it should be clear that she knows about his past.

∟So what happened to Ross's dad?

Well he went to war. This is why the Rundis are connected to the Avery's.

Because the grave Henry Avery sets up in the forest is actually for Roman Rundi, Ross's dad. This is how he found the canal, because Henry showed him the grave and he stuck around a lot there and eventually found the canal.

∟ _Tali is impotent_

One scene in Ghosts of Yesteryear has Tali confessing that she got pregnant… then this never gets brought up again. Confusing, no? Well it's because there was no significant place to put the aftermath of that without feeling like filler. Tali goes to the doctor to find out that the test was a false positive, but furthermore, she can't actually EVER have children of her own. But she keeps this to herself, and eventually she comes to accept this…

That is until she meets Sigurd Mason, who is spritely and young, an enthusiastic youth just like her. And she wonders if she can maybe make him a surrogate son, even if only in her mind. But they do talk about it and he tells her that he thinks of her like an aunt, and she accepts that for what it is.

We were meant to mention this when the line "the son she never had" was originally "the son she could never bare". But my beta thought it was too many depressing things all at once and I agreed.

Footnote: Some drugs cause false positives in pregnancy tests

∟In our headcanon, the art of tracking is actually a lost art amongst wolves. Though many of them still hold some vestige of the art, like sniffing their favorite meal from a distance or the scent of their beloved and their perfume, true tracking like the way Liandra does is hard to come by, and she can only really track Kayla cause she'd prepped for it.

Footnote: In our headcanon, wolves will sniff for suspicious scents but chasing them through a city or a forest is beyond them by now. At least not normally. It'll take training to master.

∟ _So where did Nick's lead even come from?_

Well, Creed told a friend of his in the mafia about it. And Nick heard it through that grapevine.

∟ _Why WAS there a raven in the aviary?_

Marshal left it there as a child. He found it injured in the forest and took it to the aviary.

He doesn't remember. It was so long ago and so much has already happened. But the raven pays attention and often comes down to him, even if he doesn't notice the bird half the time.

Footnote: This is one of the many scenes that never made it into the final product. The story itself is actually the LITE version of what was originally planned and it's already longer than it should be.

∟The band Fyfly actually earned its name because one of the members couldn't pronounce the word "firefly" as a kid. Watching a video of him attempting to say it made them laugh so much that they kept it as his nickname. Eventually it grew into the name of the band as Suther "Fyfly" Hicks was the lead singer.

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

**Concepts**

**Relationship Parallels**

_Just about every relationship featured in the story mirrors a part or aspect of Nick and Judy's._

∟Let's start with the easiest: Calvary and An, whose long standing friendship buds into something more, but a harrowing case and its abundant tragedies coalesce at a breaking point, spurning the pair to find comfort in each other in a burst of desperate passion,  _just like Nick and Judy._  They also parallel in what brings them to that night in bed: a begrudged acceptance of personal circumstance. Cal and An slowly come to accept their hard loss of Kayla, whilst Nick and Judy come to accept the darker facets of their occupation. These very revelations spark drastic changes in their characters, as a pair and as individuals. Whilst An and Calvary become much less cheerful and much more furious, taking the protection of the town to heights much more serious, Nick and Judy become stoic and hard, taking the same kind of serious resolve that would toughen them over future cases. Nick and An become much more determined to protect their respective partners, whilst Judy and Calvary seek to better guard themselves and becoming stronger emotional soundboards for  _their_ partners.

 _But what about the breakup, you ask?_ Well that's what would have happened if Nick and Judy decided to get together  **during** the case like Calvary and An did. There's too much stress and too much work to figure out a working relationship.

∟Sam and Bogo are a little less clean-cut but nonetheless parallel. Their synergy and upstanding performance on the job have long since established them as a formidable pair but there are distinct differences between them. Creed contrast them by stating "it's clear that on an emotional level, they're teetering off the edge of their friendship to something more. Whilst  _you_  haven't spoken to  _him_  in years," because their relationship by comparison is much the same… just so much more messy. Sam and Bogo are actually quite normal as far as people go, but Nick and Judy's lackluster backgrounds for friendship and general social aptitude and acceptance have made them so very niche that the torments of uncovering their feelings for one another is so much less haunting for them because they just aren't those kinds of people. The town is what's haunting them, and their own relationship doesn't become anywhere near as complicated as Sam and Bogo's.

∟The relationship between Suther Reese and Liz Waterdale is a representation of Nick and Judy's initial friendship. Though there is no initial confirmation of their romance, the two share a bond that is strictly platonic for the time being. They aren't even partners when the story starts. Instead, with their combined inquisitive prowess, they're thrust together to help solve the case.

Liz's relationship and eventual breakup with her boyfriend Reeder, however, is a portrayal of Judy's abandonment of social norms. (Meaning that Reeder represents these social norms. In the story he's more an  _idea_ rather than a character, which is why you never see him speak).

Her and Reeder's relationship is an expected norm from her family and the deputies around her, because they're paired  _only_ because they're both otters. Judy's idea of society, I've felt, was a construct of what society tells her, how she is expected to do certain things because other people tell her that is the norm, and inside she's always wanted to surpass expectations by reaching for things she's always wanted, which is  _against_ the norm. This is paralleled in Liz's relationship with Reeder because society expects them to be together.

Judy abandons the norms of her kind the same way Liz leaves the expectations of hers.

∟Ross and Eli's relationship on the other hand? Well of course Judy doesn't die so what then? Well, I want you to really think about what of them _is_  parallel. It isn't about their relationship on the job because Eli was never a cop. It isn't their relationship in the past because they were childhood friends. So all that remains is what Ross and Eli wanted.

Nick and Judy, now that they're together, dream of the same kind of future Ross and Eli did… the future they were never given. What the two wanted out of their lives together will never reach fruition, but our favorite buddy cop duo will. It kind of hurts to draw this parallel, cause I physically hated making Ross so sad a character, but we needed a subvillain. They share the same dream, but only one pair is getting it. Ross is only really showing what happens when such a thing is ripped away from him.

…

**Urban Legends**

_The abductions spooked the place, flooded it with ghost stories about a creature in the dark, drowning out what little truth they knew in the forgettable mysticism of an urban legend. At first I scoffed at it, cause to me they were just that: urban legends… But I will never forget how close those stories actually came to the truth._

~Nicholas Wilde

So how close _were_  these urban legends? Well, Nick and Judy finally get the full story off Marcus and his encounter with the cult and he even gets to explain how Marshal spun a tale that got the whole town talking about horse-skull crow…

∟ **Dead Horse and the Red Eyes**

" _The older folk say that it's a ten foot walkin' crow, with feathered claws where the wings oughta' be, and a horse's skull for a head, red eyes glowin' in its sockets. And its stomach is a furnace, cinders bellowin' in its demon gut, and embers tricklin' out of its every breath."_

_"They say that if ya find yerself alone at night, or if ya been plenty naughty, he'd find ya, red eyes blinkin' till he got close. Then he'd steal ya away, swallow ya whole like a python. Then it'd cook ya in its stomach, burnin' ya in the furnace in its gut. Then its body would smoke from its skin and skull, plantin' yer ashes in its feathers and turning its head black as the night as ta' slip away in the shadows."_

Almost on the nose, this one, right? Well it's cause it came from Marshal. Since the murders began in Autumn, the latter part of it would, of course, be October.

And what's in October? Halloween!

So Marshal gathered with his friends one night during that very holiday and people were just starting to calm down after the killings. But Carrion's presence still loomed overhead and folks were still scared. But the children only felt a twinge of the dread, enough to spook them but not enough to silence them. So they opted to share scary stories on it.

They were all spinning tales about Carrion and what kind of monster they thought he was. And it was easy to come up with stories since everyone was jumpy, what with all the lights out. So when it came to be Marshal's turn, he spun his own story about the furnace and the long inescapable grasp of the Dead Horse.

It became so popular that it spread through town. Even the teenagers were talking about it, many of them claiming the story as their own. Marshal's penning of the story was never redrawn, and soon it took on such a life of its own that when he heard the story again, he'd thought it was the first time he'd heard it!

_But the story did some revisions and refining._

Liz, Reese, and Nick make mention of the Red Eyes from the legend, and they're right about their suspicions of its origin. A drunkard who stumbled out into the street did precisely see his friend being kidnapped and taken away by a pair of shimmering red eyes. (But from the backside of Marcus's van).

His drunken tale was melded with Marshal's, completing the modern Dead Horse legend.

∟ **Carrion Cult**

The legend goes that a cult hell-bent on sacrificing people to a demonic crow god has been doing all the kidnappings.

The rumor of the Carrion cult from this actually stems from the Fyfly band who were later murdered by them.

The three bandmates were still learning to use instruments, so they got lessons from the band at their local church and even played with them a few times. But during one of their sessions with the local band, they came across a group of "pilgrims" who not only walked into the church in formation but were also constantly giving the stink eye to anyone who was even remotely "sinful".

A skirt that wasn't at thigh length, a leather jacket, a kid who wasn't paying attention to the sermon, or any boy and girl so much as _touching,_ were all things that riled them up and made them snarl and scowl. The boys noticed this and spread a rumor about them being scary cultists.

The rumor recirculated when Carrion turned up, citing it as a popular theory at the time. And with the cult's actual arrest looming over the news later on, it almost solidified it.

…

**Not the Whole Picture**

Aside from hours upon hours of police procedural work, correcting mistakes that you see on TV that err from reality and taking liberties on things that are unrealistic but important in pushing the story forward, there is something else about investigations I wanted to emphasize.

Notice how our protagonists never get the story right down to every detail. They only get it right ENOUGH to get them to solve the case and fill in the blanks in a reasonable manner. You see, this is how a lot of this stuff actually works. Real investigations normally don't go the way of CSI that explains it all right down to every detail.

This is why Sherlock is such a fascinating series because he uses logic and doesn't rely on machines that make the job easier, cause he figures it out from the ground up by deduction to help him get the story straight. Sherlock is famous for being clever and picking out every meticulous detail to a tee. Which raises another point of note…

I didn't want Nick and Judy to be all-knowing and whatnot. They're intelligent, yes, but to make them SHERLOCK would have been too much. They're in their first year as officers and as clever as they are, they aren't the world's greatest detectives just yet.

I'll admit though, it got kinda complicated when we were trying to craft reasonable explanations for them to come close to getting everything right. But we had fun in the end. We think it turned out well.

Footnote: On top of this, forensics is also depressingly inaccurate, and the near magical way it's done in media is for entertainment purposes rather than accuracy. So if you ever end up in the jury, try not to consider forensic evidence as an absolute tell-all. Take all information with a grain of salt, yeah?

…

**Interspecies Relationships are Normal**

I don't subscribe to the idea that interspecies relationships are a taboo. In my opinion, animals and their ancient history of incest, cannibalism, and all that nasty stuff is not only prevalent in the animal kingdom, but it's also by and large almost universal (from what I understand).

I mean, sure, humans have done it historically as well but not in the scale these animals have. There are a vast amount of human tribes who have never turned to cannibalism. In fact, I've only ever heard of very few. (But this is based off my research and what I've heard from the indigenous tribes I've had some experience with). On the other spectrum, animals still routinely eat their own kind for one reason or another, and it's _normal_  to them.

The way I see it, once the Zootopians evolved, they were more worried about not being eaten instead of maybe mating with another species, especially when it's comparatively genetic harmlessness in the face of the once equally prevalent incest.

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

**THANK YOU'S**

Nope, we're not at the end part thing yet. Before we get there, I wanted to thank everyone who has supported us throughout this journey. And instead of making one big message for everyone, I wanted to do it collectively from some and personally for particular individuals. But we'd like to emphasize that we are grateful for _everyone_ who showed up to help and keep us going. Even finding out we were interesting enough to Follow was nice enough.

Also, I swear, some of you had different names last time I checked. XD

(Disclaimer: Forgive me if I misspell. I'm writing the names down, not copying. _)

**Reddit**

To _lostzilla1992, SilentStriker 84, JustNibblin, CyberReaver, twocentnuisance_ and  _Blackaerin…_

Thank you for your support off the sites! We were glad to get outside endorsements. I didn't even know we were getting traction out there but my beta has ensured that I got to see. XD I was legitimately shocked, and very, very grateful.

(Though I apologize if I missed anyone. I only ever saw what was shown to me. Please message me on Reddit if I missed your support. I'd love to add you to the list here.)

**Fanfiction**

To  _Mari Cherie, CHA1 T3A, DtheQuiet,_ _rtadfgbvsfgh/Namicle, Fishcake-Chan, ErsatzNomenclature, Blackwillow55, eventyraren, Bobo, Smi1e Like You Mean It,_ and _all the guests…_

We began on FFnet and it was gratifying to get our first set of supporters there. People gawking at the tension was so incredibly gratifying cause we'd been gunning for that very thing and hoped we'd get it right on our first attempt. Even the simple pleas for updating soon got us riled up to keep going. And as the first spot we'd dug our heels in, we're glad to have found a place to start. Thanks again for the warm welcome. :)

**Archive of Our Own**

To  _Alan Almeida de Andrade, jasper ford, 626, zoero, Amanda Lasagna, SummerSnow888, Picasso Pickle, purplemoonwaves, dethwulf Zero, KohGeek, WorldofHeroes, Just A Fan (whomever you are XD), Daniel Kim Hansen, twocentnuisance, binaryPsynapse, Skippet, Combat Engineer (\\[T]/), J.D. Fowlerton, AsekaSilver, ARainDragon, Rusty/ElijahRust, gonekrazy3000, VenusWillow, DrummerMax64, xAndurielx_ and  _all the guests…_

We almost didn't go for Ao3. My friend used to post in it and we were apprehensive about going there ourselves after her, but we're glad we did. The speculative theories about who was the killer, the energy and emotion we'd get from readers, all that support and all in all it was an absolute pleasure being there. Being there has also given us enough ideas about how well we've put together our mystery, cause every little hint, it seemed, managed to catch  _someone's_ eye. You're such a clever lot. We're glad to be a part of this site now, and we're glad you've all stuck by us.

**Critical Critique**

To  _JustNibblin_ _, J.D Fowlerton, CHA1 T3A, DtheQuiet, MariCherie, DrummerMax64, twocentnuissance, KohGeek, dethwulf Zero and the Omnibus…_

Thank you for being honest with us. I began this entire project just to improve my writing. I've come to realize that I still have a ways to go and I'll have to keep experimenting to find my style and to fix my persisting writing issues. In light of that, I have learned far more from you than I have with most of my schooling. This ultimately means that I get to walk away from this experience a smarter person, and I have you to thank. :)

**Favorites, Follows, Kudos (this took forever to put together… XD)**

To  _Blackwillow55, BlazeBlue32, Dabarq, Dark dragon slayer unlimited, DefusE, DrummerMax64, Fanaxdu, Fishcake-Chan, Koare-san, Maxxie666, RabidWolfZ, Readerfever, Silvox, Tanahamondo, TheMortalMan, Unbroken Sage, aaameidas, alexicia the light of destiny, cabbaj, cor955, crouchingbastard, crypto496, kevinsaid, naruto789987, xXLgTXx, Armasyll, AugustRaes, BagpipeHeadache, Bondo sheetmetal, BrambleStar14, Coelurosaur, Dakota Lesmercy, DraizeWilde, Dystropolis, ErsatzNomenclature, FenrirFenrisSonOfLoki, Floppster, Go to bed, Gunbladeprimal, Imsmart2001, ItzAMindfreak, JustNibblin, KazenoShun, Kijarran, LS505956, Maxxie666, MousseTrap567, Nova Bucker, Novanto, SilentStriker84, Taigon Shikkin, Thatdude18, TheFlazhy, UnveiledXibalba, Xynovitch, annea101, bobolesinge, crystal-shinobi, dragzxx, eventyraren, gonzo22, ilovemew12, keiwaiyin, larkey116, oddjobswitcher, teamincentive, wolfdwnyourbook, zoero, AnimeFan51, AugustRaes, BagpipeHeadache, BlackimusPrime1, CardinalRules, Dakota Lesmercy, Darman Skirata, DtheQuiet, Featherborne, Gunbladeprimal, ItzAMindfreak, Iuly7, JacobMySpace, LastoftheSeven, Lord Curly, Marshlander, Maxxie666, Novanto, PhoenixKezia, RabidWolfZ, Ranintoruin, Readerfever, RetroTech, Shdwolf, Shymmer, Siaan5, Smi1e Like You Mean It, Sndps, Sub2, T0mmen, Thiendrah, UnbaisedRage, Verus Amicus, Wolvenarch, Xynovitch, Zeeeemark, alliesvsaxis1945, barkain, digger2549, g33k3db34r, ilovemew12, keiwaiyin, larkey116, rtadfgbvsfgh/Namicle, shadow9692, sidraTheater, supernatec3, teamincentive, titen anwolf, wolfdwnyourbook, Adam95F, Far313, Fox in the hen house, Horizon-Dawn, Mr. Hohos, Theoretically Mars, bagnome, taintedahab, rrNextUsername, HollowSoul, Talsette7, Whit_Leigh, Fairlane302, CombatEngineer, Meridian_Prime, xAndurielx, gonekrazy3000, valenros, Notcanonyet, Aquarion_V, ElijahRust, DragoLord19D, LightInside, KohGeek, zstorm619, ChaoticImp, jypzrose, purplemoonwaves, AsekaSilver, honeymoth, SaberGatomon, rrNextUsername, AgaetisByrjun, MrDestroyer005, dethwulf_Zero, Skippet, ThatIrishFox (slipknotmaggot33), twocentnuisance, Turjas, shina, Tony18, ThEpicjellyfish, Aquarion V, Sairae, DJ83, der kaizer, Every1s Beta, SummerSnow888, DragoLord19D, KohGeek, WorldofHeroes, ChaoticImp, Blaer, jasper ford, 626, Moonlight Wanderer_ and  _all 83 guests…_

Simply knowing I'd gotten someone's attention enough to think that I might actually have a decent, non-trash story to tell was enough motivation to make the push even when I was sick or when my beta was having trouble. It has meant the world to us that you've all taken your time to see our story through and that you like it enough to let us know in your own small way. Thank you all for your support, silent or otherwise. :)

_**To Alan Almeida de Andrade** _

We were initially quite worried about walking into Ao3, but when you showed up, we were all but relieved. We hope you've still managed to come by to see this. You helped us pick up our feet on the site and we're glad you joined us on this ride from day one. :)

_**To PicassoPickle** _

"…like poetry," those two words got to me when I began writing this. I'd been trying to capture a friend's phenomenal style and then I find your comment and I cannot tell you how satisfying it was to hear it. I held my head high that day, and I rest easy even now when I think back on it. Thank you very much :)

_**To DrummerMax64** _

I still have no idea how you've managed to get all over the place. XD But that aside, I'm very glad to have had your continued and vocal support. My beta has even constantly found himself agreeing on your points as he tries to place himself as a reader rather than my editor. You've been active catharsis when you started jumping back in and you've been energy we've managed to draw from to keep pushing despite our hectic schedules. It should be no secret that you kept us going at the final stretch there with your critique. Thank you for existing you wonderful animal. XD

_**To twocentnuissance** _

:')

Firstly, on behalf of my beta, he'd like to thank you for posting your wall of text. It had been the exact kind of comment he'd been hoping for. Which I know I've already said, but I wanted to point it out again. Secondly, you've been wonderful. Utterly fantastic. My beta tried very hard to look at the story through a reader's perspective but anything we'd have doubts on, you'd be there to provide something and that made our job easier. But more than that, you were insightful and clever, even if you didn't know you were, and it felt like we'd had a discussion rather than a commentary (which was cathartic). You've been a delight to have. Honestly and truly.

I sincerely hope none of you feel alienated with my messages to certain people. _ I know all of you have had your opinions you'd have liked to share and not all of us have the words to articulate how we feel about something or other. But know that we're still glad you've all taken your time to be with us. Whether you've been with us since the beginning or are just joining us now, thank you for coming. You've made this experience worthwhile.

~Draes

**~~~o0O0o~~~**

**HI! WELCOME! WE NEED YOUR HELP**

So, we're finally here, the thing I've been hoping people will check in on! If you're reading this, thank you for making it this far. If you skipped ahead to this part, thank you for taking your time to read this at all. XD

We've made mention of a lot of details in our world that never get explored,  _but_  there's some that aren't connected to Bronc Town and that's with good reason. We've noted that Gazelle is hosting a show called  _Idol_ , we remarked briefly about the capture of the infamous Doug Ramses, there's mention of Mayor Swinton and her rise to power, and there's talk of the Harriers and their big all-around company. And when Judy went to visit the Harrier estate, we'd gotten to see a glimpse of the characters there and the kind of people they are, and we even got to see the rough friendship between Nick and Lupin. But why did we do that?

 **Cause we're planning a SEQUEL…**   _but there doesn't actually need to be._

You see, the story can just end here. A sequel isn't pertinent. Nick and Judy have gone through enough and the rest can be left to your imagination. The additional details can just be tidbits of world building we'd sprinkled in, we don't really need to build upon it.

_Unless you think we should or just want us to._

But you have to keep in mind a few things:

1 –  **We've already planned it out but it isn't ready yet.** So you'll have to wait a while.

It's been called "The Clockwork Heart" and interchangeably "Heart of Clockwork" as tentative titles during our discussions. Our Ao3 readers might know that it's all part of the "Cradle of Intrigue" series we'd put it in. But the story isn't fully fleshed out yet and still has a lot of kinks to work out before we do any kind of writing prep.

2 –  **It's not going to be the same kind of story.**  Bronc Town is a murder mystery with a crime drama mixed in cause ' _inspiration_ ' and I wanted to test the waters there. But what is Clockwork Heart? It's a drama too, but it's an  _ **action**_ story with some philosophical and political drama. It's a very different animal.

It might even be a little jarring to you readers cause it might feel like a different universe from Bronc Town. Because… you know how Nick and Judy have all these gripes about killing people? That's no longer an issue with the three year time skip it provides.

They're getting better at shooting and fending people off in hand to hand. Nick regularly uses his claws and is learning how to track people's scents with An's help. Judy is training to track people via sound and is trained to be a proper sniper.

Their romance has also normalized and they aren't clinging to each other all the time anymore. They peck cheeks, hold hands on dates, nudge each other as they walk, but they've outgrown all the overt stuff (not that they've stopped acting like a couple altogether, they're just not going at each other's pants at every opportunity).

They're a grounded couple and established officers with a monumental track record and a few bitter kills under their belt in the name of the people. A far cry from the silently cowering pair they were before. In fact, you could even call the story a standalone.

3 –  **It's going to tackle some uncomfortable themes.**  Cannibalism, suicide, madness, and ritualistic murder in Bronc Town all made sure that we couldn't have it set up in ZNN. And it's no different here. Cause Heart of Clockwork will deal with terrorism, implied incest, and a lot of dead people to the point of simulated genocide (which can be incredibly distasteful, I know). It's no holes barred.

(There will also be some gore but it'll be on already dead people. None of that slow torture stuff. It's even likely going to have no torture at all unless we find need of it.)

Remember, this story doesn't need to exist.

4 –  **I'm here to experiment.** This is why the genre is different, cause I tried the crime drama/murder mystery stuff. And now the action/philosophical bit comes next on my testing. I only really know that I like writing tension and drama, but after that I've no idea where I settle in as far as major genres go or what extremes I'm comfortable with.

But Zootopia doesn't have to be where I take this next step. I can still experiment with all the AUs we've been coming up with for Zootopia (an upcoming short: Neon Noir, is coming), but we can always take my action story to a different fandom. RWBY and  _maybe_ MLP come to mind.

The question is where I go to take this next step and it doesn't need to be here.

Let us know in the comments/reviews, PM me, or hit me up on Reddit (same name) and let us know what you think. :) Be as honest as you can be, we'd love to hear you out.

SEE YOU ALL ON THE EPILOGUE!

[P.S.] Regarding the Epilogue…

We might actually end up delaying it. Because if our readers decide that the sequel doesn't need to happen, we will expand the epilogue itself to really drive home the ending in its finality. We'll have to wait and hear from you fine folks. XD


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